Unreality
by sharim
Summary: When realities merge, which reality is of consequence? SJ.
1. Chapter 1

**title**: Unreality

**spoilers**: PoV, TBFTGoG. It's set toward the end of Season 3.

**category**: AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance

**pairings**: Sam/Jack

**warnings**: Slight language. Angst.

**disclaimer**: I don't even own the computer this was typed on.

**summary**: When realities merge, which reality is of consequence?

**A/N: **I first wrote this fic way back in 2002/2003 and posted the first couple of parts. Because I was never particularly happy with the fic itself I never finished it. Generally, as a rule, I don't post WiPs, but for some reason with this fic I did.

I've been reading a LOT of AU fics recently (evasive-study-action-technique 1.03) and as such have been feeling strangely inspired to write again, and seeing as this fic was so unfinished, I thought maybe I could work on it again. Also, my au100 challenge made me feel like writing AUs, and I felt like I would be cheating to take the same plot of a story I'd already written, just rewrite it and then submit it. So I decided to finish the original, even though I'm not particularly impressed with it.

I'm reposting the first two chapters again because I've tweaked them a little and corrected a few little typos I missed the first time round (doubtlessly though I've missed a few again), and I'll try to keep posting this fairly regularly.

Hope you enjoy this one, and don't hold it against me! Remember, I initially wrote this YEARS ago!

---

PART ONE 

---

It wasn't possible.

She _knew_ it wasn't possible.

But yet...

She yawned, rubbed her eyes and then pressed her palms together, resting her fingertips against her chin so that anyone watching would think she was praying.

Her. Praying.

The two words together jerked the chords of her cynical heart and a small, humourless smile touched the corners of her lips.

She tensed as she heard the light footfall of a rubber shoe on the lino floor, and she opened her eyes slowly, willing the reality in front of her to disappear. But it didn't. It was still there. Starkly contradicting everything she thought she knew. Everything she had ever believed possible.

Another humourless smile touched her lips as she turned to the man next to her. She should have known. She should have known better than to doubt the possibility actually existed. She should have known better than to believe this was impossible, because, time and time again, things that may have seemed impossible had been all to possible and all to real.

The man didn't say anything as he stood next to her, but she knew that his old blue eyes were also focused on the unmoving evidence in front of them. She could feel the hesitation and trepidation rolling off him in waves, adding to the pounding dilemma of emotions already wearing away at her thin veneer of control.

"This shouldn't have happened," she whispered eventually, breaking the veiled silence between them.

"No. It shouldn't have," Hammond agreed softly, and then there was silence once more except for the constant hum of the machinery around them and the slow, steady beep of the heart monitor.

Her eyes started to burn and emotions clogged her throat as she allowed her eyes to trail over the face of the woman lying before them. A million times a week she would have given _anything_ so see her again, to watch her smile, to be her friend. And now... now it was very nearly a possibility, and that thought rocked through her to the very core of her soul, scaring her so deeply that she was afraid to even give the woman her name.

She was just 'a woman'. A patient. Lying there so still, fighting for her life.

Janet closed her eyes again and ran tired fingers through her short brown tresses, once again turning to look at the man standing beside her.

"What are we going to do?" she asked eventually, her voice brittle and threatening to break.

"I don't know. I really don't know."

The complete bewilderment, the _fear_ on his voice was merely an echo of the fear in her. But he should have known what to do, she thought desperately. It was his position, his _duty_ to know what to do in times of crisis. It's what his position as their leader demanded, just as her position demanded that she should be able to heal them all.

But sometimes, both duties would be unfulfilled. Watching the woman lie there on the bed, she couldn't help but think that this may be one of those times.

This should never have come to pass. This should never, despite all their wishing and praying, it should _never_ have been a possibility.

But it was. It had happened. And it went against the very rules of living that were ingrained on her heart.

Dead people simply didn't come back.

---

It was a perfect day. With the sun shining down cheerily and glinting peacefully off the tiny ripples in the water things seemed almost perfect.

Almost.

It would be a long time before he thought they were perfect again, if ever, but it was getting close. It had been too long since he had felt as free and relaxed as the breeze playing amongst the trees. But today… today he came close to remembering and feeling that freedom. To being happy.

He sighed in contentment, and his companion gazed at him calmly from beneath a wide brimmed hat. He caught the glance and allowed a smile to break through onto his features, chasing away the shadows and the nightmares that had been thriving there for the last months.

"You are happy." The comment was said in the usual, quietly stated manner, and Jack allowed himself a moment to mull over the words.

"Yes, Teal'c, I think I am," he agreed quietly, once again casting his gaze out over the calm waters of the lake. The colourful plastic float attached to his fishing line bobbed merrily and as it jiggled slightly beneath his hands, and another smile touched his lips.

"It has been a long time," Teal'c observed quietly, watching as Jack attempted to reel in his fishing line.

Jack didn't answer as he pulled the hook up, brief disappointment shadowing his face as he realised the hook was empty. No fish in the lake after all. Still, he had been sure that time...

"It's better now," Jack said after a while, once his line had been cast again and a fresh bottle of beer had been opened and raised to his lips. "But I don't think it'll ever be the same again."

"No. It will not be," Teal'c agreed, relief settling over his heart as he turned his attention out to the lake. "There is still much to see, O'Neill. Much to live for."

"I know," Jack sighed, rolling his eyes before raising his beer to his lips again. "But... I'll be okay now."

Teal'c looked over at him again, and allowed a smile to tinge his usually expressionless features. Silence ensued as the men fished, only to be harshly shattered by the sound of flesh meeting flesh in an angry clap.

"What?" Jack turned to Teal'c, his eyebrows raised innocently as he glimpsed Teal'c's expression of distaste at the small smear of black insect over his hand.

"Have we not fished enough yet, O'Neill?" the Jaffa asked, wiping his hand on his trousers and glancing disdainfully at the water.

"Course not," Jack rolled his eyes scornfully, yanking on his fishing line. "We've hardly even got started yet..."

"I do not understand what is so pleasurable about fishing, O'Neill."

"Teal'c..." Jack sighed, well aware of the usual argument about to ensue.

"Dr. Carter also confided in me that she did not enjoy fishing." Teal'c watched O'Neill discreetly, observing the slight tightening of the jaw and the shadow that crossed his eyes. The Jaffa was happy to see that the usual indifference, the closed off expression was missing.

"She didn't come for the fishing," Jack stated after a while, once again flinging his line out as far as he could. It was true, she hadn't come for the fishing. Then again, when she'd started coming with him he hadn't really come for the fishing either. That's why it was easier fishing all day and staying away from the walks and the cabin. It was easier, because fishing didn't remind him so much of her as the other things did.

"Perhaps in time, you will not also come solely for fishing," Teal'c said consolingly, eyeing his friend almost warily.

"Maybe," Jack agreed, but his eyes showed he didn't really believe it. This was their place; his and Sam's, and every time he stepped into the cabin or set foot in the woods he remembered her. And it was too painful now. Maybe in time the memories would be more bitter-sweet than painful, but for now... it was still too new, too raw for him to come here for the memories. Now, he came solely for the fishing.

Once again they dropped into silence, each lost in their own thoughts until the silence was shattered by the harsh, intruding shrill of a cell-phone.

"You didn't." Jack stared at Teal'c in disbelief, disgust etched onto his features.

"I did," Teal'c replied calmly, delving into his 'pack' and pulling out what looked suspiciously like Janet Fraiser's cell phone. He passed it onto Jack with an almost amused smile to his face, and then turned back to his fishing rod.

"O'Neill." Jack snapped into the phone.

"Jack?"

"I said so, didn't I?" he sighed, his anger abating as he recognised Daniel's almost hesitant voice.

"Uh... Jack... "

"What is it Daniel?" Jack frowned, almost concerned by the tone of Daniel's voice. Almost.

"Um... Jack... you might want to head back down to the SGC... "

"Daniel, do you know where I am right now?" Jack asked sweetly, a long-suffering look in his eyes as he gazed over at Teal'c who was watching him with undisguised attention.

"Uh.. up at your cabin... I'm not sure I follow you though..."

"It's called down time Daniel, because usually you don't have to work during your down time."

"I know that, Jack," Daniel said, annoyed now, "but this is different."

"Different how?" Jack demanded suspiciously.

"I don't want to talk about it over the phone." Daniel hesitated again and Jack immediately understood that whatever it was, Daniel didn't want to talk about it regardless of whether it was over the phone or not.

"Daniel."

"Please, Jack." It wasn't the fact that it was Daniel making the request, it wasn't the fact that Jack's curiosity was slightly aroused by all the usual cloak and dagger, it was more the desperation and complete bewilderment on Daniel's voice that made up Jack's mind.

"We'll start driving for the airport in ten minutes." Jack sighed into the phone. "Bye Daniel."

"Bye Jack. Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I... never mind. I'll see you soon." Jack stared at the silent phone in his hand with a measure of wariness and suspicion.

"Any idea what that was about?" he asked Teal'c as he snapped the phone closed and handed it back to Teal'c.

"I do not."

"Didn't think so. Come on, we're going back."

"That is most disappointing."

"Somehow, Teal'c, when you say that I find it really hard to believe you."

---

"So?" Janet looked up tiredly as Daniel entered the room again, his hair in disarray where his fingers had been pulled through it roughly.

"He's on his way," he stated edgily, unable to stop his eyes from straying to the bed in the far corner.

"How did he take it?" Janet followed the line of his eyes and almost reluctantly allowed hers to also settle on the unmoving figure.

"I don't know... I didn't tell him," Daniel admitted, tearing his eyes back to Janet in time to catch the myriad of emotions playing her face. "Janet... "

"Why not?" She knew the answer; she had known all along that he wouldn't be able to tell Jack over the phone. She knew that no one would be able to say the words over the phone.

"Could you?" Daniel asked softly, running a restless hand through his hair again. His hands were never restless, had never been restless. Until now.

Her silence answered his questions more than her words would have been able too, and he also understood with her silence that she didn't judge him for being unable to tell Jack why he was needed back at the SGC.

"I wished things were different a million times..." she said eventually, her eyes never straying from her vigil over the woman still lying motionless on the bed.

"We all did."

"I could have made them different... I could have done something... " She clutched at her fading hope desperately, fear of something greater than she understood driving her desperation.

"You couldn't, Janet. No one could."

"And in a sick, completely twisted sort of way, my wish has come true," she continued, ignoring his words. "I've been given a second chance to set things right..."

Daniel remained silent as her words hung in the air. "No," he said eventually, closing his eyes against the image before him. "No, you haven't been given a second chance."

She looked up at him then, breaking her watch over the woman and turning her agitated gaze towards him.

"It's not her, Janet. She's not the same person."

"I know that." Janet frowned, refusing to let her eyes turn back to the woman on the bed. "But it looks like her... everything..."

"It's not her, Janet. You _know_ it's not her," Daniel stated firmly, ignoring the pain ripping through his heart as the words crossed over his lips. He was betraying her, the woman lying on the bed. And yet, if he didn't say the words, if he didn't acknowledge the truth of the situation then he would still be betraying her, if not on a far greater level. "It's not her," he whispered again, his words falling around them flatly and shattering the hope she had been trying to gather.

Janet swallowed roughly, and took a step forwards.

She had seen this picture a hundred, a million times before. The startling blue eyes hidden from view behind bruised eyelids, the golden hair spilling onto the pillow while her lips remained unmoving.

Janet had done this before - tended this person before, healed this person before. And she'd also lost this person. She'd watch the life slowly drain from the same body, unable to stop it from leaving as the flow of blood that had seeped from wounds and stained the white sheets red had been unable to be stemmed. She had failed this woman... these people. And yet... here it was, all over again.

"But it is her, Daniel," she whispered, and reached out a shaking hand to brush a stray lock of blond hair from the cool forehead. "It is her,"

And, watching Janet lean over the woman and accept her familiar features for who they appeared to be, Daniel felt a desire to also accept it tug through him. But he couldn't accept it, because appearances could be deceiving and the woman lying on the bed was not who she appeared to be. She wasn't who they all remembered, no matter how much it might seem like it now.

---

"Afternoon, Sir." The soldier on duty nodded at him politely as he held out the clipboard. Jack's pen scratched quickly over the paper, the angry, jagged lines on the white paper spoke of his irritation.

"Airman." He glanced up at the man almost absently, until he realised the man was watching him almost curiously.

"Back so soon, Sir?"

"Some emergency," Jack shrugged his shoulders, glancing down at his scrawled signature and flinching. Her name would have been scrawled right beneath his at one stage, or right above it. Now his was just scrawled by itself, along with a dozen other names that had no meaning to him at all. Except Teal'c... but then, he'd never quite thought of Teal'c in the same way he'd thought of her, and frankly, he didn't want too.

"Bye, Sir."

"Bye." Jack stepped into the elevator, a frown of confusion and worry clouding his features. At the lift doors opened again and he stepped out, he could almost taste the hesitation in the corridors.

"O'Neill." Teal'c stepped forwards, having gone down ahead of Jack.

"Teal'c." Jack frowned again, looking around. "Come on..."

"General Hammond requests your presence in his office, O'Neill," Teal'c cut in as Jack started off in the direction of Daniel's lab.

"Oh?" He gazed at Teal'c, trying to understand why an air of suspension was hanging in the SGC.

They walked quickly and firmly down the concrete corridors, and his eyes only strayed once as a nurse coming around a corner caught sight of him and watched him pass with open curiosity. He was starting to feel concerned now, at this rude halt to his down time.

He paused for a minute outside the General's door, hesitating. Shrugging off his concern he quickly raised a hand to the painted surface and rapped out a polite staccato on the door. Teal'c raised an eyebrow as he gazed at him. O'Neill never knocked. He just walked in and assumed the General wanted to see him.

Jack saw the look Teal'c sent him and offered a simple excuse. "Manners."

Teal'c merely nodded and joined Jack in the study of paintwork on General Hammond's door until General Hammond's voice was heard calling "Come."

George Hammond watched as two members of his flagship team entered his office, quickly letting his eyes flick over the Jaffa's usual tidy appearance, and Jack O'Neill's scruffy, casual clothes. Obviously his Colonel hadn't felt himself compelled to change into uniform.

"Sit down," he invited, forestalling the inevitable.

"You wanted to see us, Sir?" Jack cut to the chase, not really comfortable with the sitting idea. A sit-down usually meant a serious talk, a heavy conversation. He didn't want one of those now; he didn't wanted to be faced with another problem. He just wanted his two weeks down time to be resumed so that he could continue fishing and just forget everything.

But it wasn't going to happen, was it?

"Yes." General Hammond paused again, glancing down at the file in his hands. A file he never thought he'd have to open again. Her file. "Colonel..." He hesitated, screwing up his eyes in thought as he gazed at Jack. "Do you remember a few years back Dr. Jackson had a brush with an 'alternate reality?'"

"You mean that _thing_ on the planet with the mirror?" Jack frowned, straining his memory.

"Yes." General Hammond smiled slightly as the familiarities of Jack O'Neill's behaviour were starting to show themselves again. He had been wondering if this man would ever return to them, if he would ever be making his smart comments again and getting simple planet designations confused.

"Sir?" Jack waited patiently as General Hammond shifted the papers in his hands.

"Well, Colonel..." the General's mouth went dry as he thought about forming the words, about speaking of the impossibility that had suddenly become a reality.

"General?" He was obviously confused now, concerned that his CO couldn't tell him what was on his mind.

The awkwardness, the heaviness in the air between them was forgotten momentarily as the phone rang and the General was given a postponement. "Yes, I understand," he nodded into the phone, his eyes refusing to meet Jacks'.

Jack felt worry suddenly make itself known in his gut. He hadn't felt worry for months now. Not since the accident. Not since he lost his reason to feel worry. And the all too familiar feel of his entrails doing 'the twist' reminded him with a sudden jolt that he was moving on now. Despite his beliefs that he wouldn't be able to move on, despite his certainty of his life being over, he was moving on. Just like he'd moved on after Charlie.

General Hammond hung up the phone slowly, his hand resting on the red receiver for a minute longer than necessary before he allowed his gaze to finally meet Jack's. He couldn't tell him. He couldn't verbalise the words swimming around his mind. No. He was a coward. Just like Dr. Jackson, just like Dr. Fraiser. They were all cowards, none of them could tell him.

"You should probably head down to the infirmary..." General Hammond sighed, pushing his old body to its feet and standing along with Teal'c and Jack. "You'll understand when you get there."

"General?" Jack frowned, fear at how scared the General looked lacing it's way into his heart and pulling it so tightly he wondered if he'd be able to breath again.

"I'm sorry, Jack," General Hammond said half-heartedly.

"Sorry?" Jack frowned. First Daniel was sorry, and now the General. Why were they all sorry? The last time they'd all said 'I'm sorry' was when...

He cut his train of thought of abruptly. He couldn't think of that now. Something was wrong. He needed to be able to do his work - whatever that was going to be - without having to battle his wayward emotions as well.

"Dr. Fraiser is expecting you." General Hammond looked down at his desk, shame flooding over him. He couldn't tell him. He couldn't tell Jack. He didn't know how to tell Jack.

Both men stood for a second, gazing down at the General who had once again seated himself and was now steadfastly refusing to look at either of them.

As their footsteps faded out of the room and the door clicked closed, General Hammond allowed himself to look up. And as he looked up his eye caught the photos he kept framed on the shelf next to the wall. One photo in particular stood out, the photo that had been standing out for the last three days now. The wedding photo.

And he felt a tear trail down his withered cheek and creep to the corner of his mouth where it crept in between the cracks in his lips and he could taste its saltiness on his tongue.

---

Janet hadn't expected it yet. She had been expecting it eventually, all the signs had pointed towards happening. But not yet. Not now. It was still too soon.

She watched the confusion in the blue eyes as they swept around the room sluggishly, she saw the throat movement as the woman fought to breathe past the respirator. What struck Janet the deepest was each time the woman allowed her gaze to skitter past her she saw only sadness and loss in the nearly forgotten eyes.

It was too soon for her to wake up, in more ways than one.

"What's happened to you?" she whispered, leaning in and brushing the persistently stubborn lock of hair from the now warm forehead. She smiled down at the woman as she continued to brush her fingers through the short strands of blond hair and offer her comfort.

After watching her warily for a moment, the woman allowed her eyes to close again and accepted the comfort offered by the doctor. Janet swallowed roughly.

She wasn't all that was different. Janet imagined that to the patient lying on the bed in front of her, she and all her companions were wrong as well.

This shouldn't have happened. But, no matter how many times she said that to herself and everyone else, it_ had_ happened, and now they all had to deal with it.

She gazed down at the woman again, her face once again relaxed in slumber. But a single line of wetness ran from the corner of one closed eye and led to a small, darker mark of dampness on the pillow next to her blond head.

Janet stopped stroking the woman's hair and jerked her hands back to herself. Janet never cried. But now, standing here and watching the woman sleep, the tears were suddenly flowing over her eyelids, refusing to be stemmed.

"Dr. Fraiser?" She didn't turn around as the nurse called her name softly; she refused to let anyone see her cry.

"Yes?" She was sniffing, her voice was just as teary as her eyes, but the nurse politely didn't comment.

"Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c are here, Ma'am."

Janet cursed inwardly as she wiped her eyes angrily with her white lab coat sleeve, leaving a streak of mascara on the otherwise spotless material.

"I'll be right there," she whispered, glancing one last time at the woman lying on the bed before spinning firmly on her heel and leaving the small room to wrestle with her demons of cowardice.

"Are you well, Dr. Fraiser?" The polite inquiry was only voiced by one, but the other's eyes also spoke of his concern.

"Fine," Janet lied through clenched teeth, making a show of looking down at her ever present clipboard while desperately fighting for control. "She... she woke up a few minutes ago," Janet whispered, not looking at them.

There was an odd silence, and when she looked up she was met by two very confused pairs of eyes. "Who woke up a few minutes ago?" Colonel O'Neill asked slowly, studying her face intently.

"You... you don't know, do you?"

"Don't know what?" Jack felt anger grow in him as he stared at Janet. Anger. Anger was good. It had been so long now that he'd been without emotions. He was beginning to wonder if his ability to feel things had died right along with-

"He didn't tell you then," Janet spoke, more to herself than to the two men who were watching her with a growing air of impatience and fear.

"Janet, What. Is. Going. On?" Jack demanded, taking her shoulders firmly with his hands and forcing her to meet his eyes.

"I... I... " Her eyes started to burn with tears again, the hot droplets of water splashing down onto her cheeks and scalding her ice cold skin. "It shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry Jack..."

He let go of her as though she had hit him and stepped backwards, his whole body jerking with shock. Sorry. They were all sorry. They'd only been sorry when-

Abruptly he pushed past her, ignoring the half-hearted plea she called after him, and entered the small room she'd stepped out of only minutes ago.

He remembered this room. This is where they brought her after- They'd all spent a lot of time in here, not just watching over her but also being watched over themselves when they were injured or sick. This was - had been - their unofficial room. All of them. SG-1. And her. Her. That was the last time he'd set foot in this room. They'd brought here here to die.

He swallowed roughly and pushed forwards, wondering at the dimness around him. Instinctively he headed towards the far end of the room where the machines were playing their steady beat. This beat had haunted his dreams for months. But the silence was worse. The complete silence that came after the beeps- A shiver ran over him.

It occurred to him, as he caught sight of a figure lying in the faint spill of light and his stomach twisted into a terrifying knot, that this was all like a weird sense of dejavu. The last time he'd been here, it had been an eerily similar act as the one he now found himself in. They'd all looked like him with expressions similar to the ones they were wearing now; frightened, disbelieving, but mostly it was grief. Janet had had the same, shell-shocked appearance, the complete inability to comprehend what had just happened. And then she'd said 'I'm sorry', and he'd known. He'd known as he ran into the room, as his footsteps broke the silence in the room...

But the room wasn't silent now. The machines were chorusing together steadily, just as they had for weeks before...

He stepped closer, and a strangled gasp caught in his throat, but not a word passed over his lips. He wanted to run then, he wanted to turn and bolt away from the vision lying before him. But he couldn't move. His traitorous legs held their ground and forced him to torture himself with the memories. He stared with a horrified fascination at the woman lying before him, his lips struggling to form one syllable.

And, with the uttering of that syllable, everything he had been striving for since it happened, every new foundation, support and wall he had carefully erected in order for him to begin his new life, to live without her, collapsed in a shuddering heap that was the remainder of his world.

"Sam. "

---

They stood in silence, neither of them moving. Teal'c watched her, confusion written clearly on his features as he observed the pallor of Janet's cheeks and the haunted fear with which her eyes gazed at the doorway through which O'Neill had disappeared.

He contemplated speaking to her, breaking the crystal silence which had fallen over them, but then discarded the idea as she shook her head abruptly, snapping her thoughts back to reality. She gazed over at him with undisguised sorrow in her eyes.

"I should have told him," she said eventually, her shoulders straightening themselves as she gathered control of her wayward emotions.

Teal'c tilted his head to one side, observing the shaking fingers holding onto the clipboard.

"What should you have told O'Neill?" he asked eventually, linking his hands behind his back and feeling his muscles relax. Dr. Fraiser was once more in control of herself, and this reassured Teal'c more than her words possbily could.

"We... we have a visitor, Teal'c," Janet said slowly, meeting his solemn eyes with her own. "It's Sam."

"But Dr. Carter..." Teal'c stopped, the half smile flitting over Janet's face halting his sentence and leaving the unspoken words hanging in the air between them. Dead. Dr. Carter was dead.

"I know," Janet agreed, the words slicing fresh wounds over her heart. Her friend was dead because she couldn't save her. Couldn't help her. "She's from an alternate reality, Teal'c," Janet explained gently. And, strangely enough, as the words passed over her lips for the first time and became solid around her, acknowledging that the impossible had happened, it felt as though a weight had been lifted from her heart and that perhaps, just maybe, things wouldn't be that bad after all.

Teal'c raised an eyebrow, allowing the words to drift around in his mind until he could decide whether they were words that should elicit happiness or sorrow. He studied Dr. Fraiser carefully. She didn't seem happy. She seemed scared. Wary. Unsure of how to proceed.

And, Teal'c realised as Daniel entered the room wearing an expression similar to Dr. Fraiser's, that for now, everything was going to be uncertain. While the woman was, for all intents and purposes, Sam Carter, she wasn't the Sam Carter they had known. She wasn't the woman they had loved, no matter how similar they may seem.

"Where's Jack?" Daniel looked around, shadows hovering over his face as he gazed at Teal'c from beneath a dishevelled mop of hair.

"He's in with..." Janet's voice caught again in her throat. Could she do it? Could she call the woman by her friend's name? "With Sam," she whispered, closing her eyes as the words rolled off her tongue with the ease of a breeze stirring a leaf.

Daniel froze, looking at her.

Sam. No. That woman wasn't Sam. She couldn't be Sam. And yet... Once again the desire to accept the woman for who she wasn't made itself present in him, and the tug that it gave was stronger and harder to resist this time.

"How'd he take it?" he asked, ignoring Janet's words.

"I don't know," Janet admitted, hiding her eyes from view again by looking down at her clipboard. She had to admit, that over the years she had become attached to her clipboard. It allowed her an excuse, a reprieve if you like. It gave her a reason to hide herself from her patients and colleagues until she had a grip on her runaway emotions and could look up again without revealing too much in her eyes.

"O'Neill entered the room before Dr. Fraiser had a chance to explain what had occurred." Teal'c said before Janet had time to think of an excuse. She shot him a grateful look, and his eyes were understanding and sympathetic as he gazed at her. He didn't judge her for cowardice, just as she didn't judge Daniel for cowardice and General Hammond didn't judge anyone for cowardice either. They all understood.

"How is she doing?" Daniel asked eventually, his eyes also straying to the silence doorway through which Jack had disappeared a few minutes ago.

"She woke up for a few seconds before the Colonel and Teal'c arrived."

"Already?" Daniel's eyes opened a little in surprise. "I didn't expect that. "

"I didn't either. In all truth, I didn't think she'd make it, Daniel," Janet confessed, relieved to have moved the conversation off the woman personally and onto the injuries she had sustained. Injuries, medical problems... they were easy to discuss clinically without involving the patient. She could do this. She was a doctor. And the woman – _Sam_ - was her patient.

"Dr. Carter is injured?" Teal'c questioned, concern in his eyes.

"Yes. Severely," Janet answered. "Staff burns to her hip and lower back, another one to her elbow. Several ribs cracked, a punctured lung, blood loss, she's obviously been tortured too..." she trailed off as she glanced down at the clipboard in her hands again. She didn't need the list to be able to tell Teal'c about the woman's injuries. She knew them all off by heart. Each scratch, each bruise, each burn was engraved on her memory. Every spare moment she wondered why, with this severe injury list, _this_ woman had made it, while the other woman had died with far, far less.

"How did she acquire these injuries?" Teal'c questioned after a while, his mind also wondering why this woman had managed to survive and pull through with all those injuries.

"We don't know. When some airmen found her she was lying unconscious in a storage closet, the same one where we keep our Quantum mirror. Obviously, in her reality they know how to work theirs. We're guessing that her reality has been invaded..." Daniel hesitated again, his eyes flicking back towards the door. Movement.

They dropped into silence as Jack stepped back out of the room. His face was pale. More pale and shocked than Daniel ever remembered it being. Even when Sam died. They'd been expecting her to die. They knew she'd die, that there was nothing they could do.

But this. They hadn't been expecting this. No one had been expecting this, least of all Jack. And it had happened. Always expect the unexpected to happen.

"What the hell is going on?" Jack demanded, his throat constricted as he gazed at Janet.

"She's from an alternate reality, Jack."

"And no one thought it prudent to warn me?" he demanded.

"We tried..." Janet defended, dropping her eyes once again to the clipboard.

Jack didn't argue with them. He understood. He understood all to well why they couldn't speak the words out loud. It sounded fantastic and implausible and ridiculous. And yet, it was true.

"How long?" he whispered, closing his eyes and reaching a hand out to lean against the wall until his world stopped spinning and the waves of shock crashing over him settled down to mere wavelets constantly lapping at him and wearing away at his strength.

"Nearly three days," Daniel answered, studying his hands.

"Three days," Jack echoed. They looked at him. They'd expected anger. A sarcastic comment maybe, but this emotionless, tired Jack that faced them now? He closed his eyes again and swallowed deeply. And then he opened his eyes.

And still, he felt nothing. He felt empty inside. As though some great, cosmic being had come along with a nifty little vacuum cleaner and just sucked everything out of him until he was just left standing there, only supported by his hand on the wall. He looked at his hand. If that hand moved, if that hand let go of the wall, then he'd fall. Collapse into a small pile and crumple together so tightly he'd be like a black hole, just sucking everything in with him.

Come to think of it, he thought as a rushing noise over took him and the world turned a funny greeny-yellow colour, he was going to collapse anyway.

---

Every time she closed her eyes to sink into the supposed bliss of oblivion, they were there. She remembered the fear on their faces, the blood staining their cheeks. She remembered seeing their lips moving, screaming for help. But she didn't hear anything. It was silent. Noiseless. It was as if she was underwater and everything around her was moving slowly and soundlessly.

But she knew there was noise.

She remembered watching them fall; she remembered the way she flinched with each thump as another limp body thudded against the unforgiving concrete. She remembered each droplet of blood sprayed from each injury, and she remembered the agony on their faces as each blast tore into their body and stole their lives.

And still she heard nothing.

And then she remembered seeing his face. She remembered the way the sweat was running down his cheeks, the way his stubble made his face look dirty; streaked with blood and soot. And she remembered the way it felt beneath her fingers, the shock and surprise in his eyes as her hands found his face that quickly turned to an expression of longing that mirrored only her own. She remembered his hands on hers, the burning feel of his lips pressing a quick, hidden kiss into her palm. And then she saw his lips moving; the words that formed there were ingrained on her memory.

But she couldn't hear.

And then she left.

"Easy... easy..." Her eyes flew open. Sound. She could hear. Relief rocked through her and she choked back a sob as soundless tears streamed down her face.

Failed. She failed them.

"It's okay. It's okay honey, you're okay," she looked around again and met those strangely familiar eyes that were looking down at her.

And then she became aware of the pain. The burning pain in her lungs had followed her. She ached, everything throbbed with pain. Closing her eyes she swallowed, trying to cool her inflamed throat, but the simple movement sent waves of pain rocking over her.

"You want a drink?" The voice reached her ears over the roaring of pain, and she desperately tried to say yes. But her voice wouldn't work, her mouth wouldn't work. Nothing worked.

"Here..." The woman disappeared and then reappeared, and then a second later she felt the cold wetness of an ice chip against her lips. Gingerly she parted her lips, and the relief slid into her mouth. Closing her eyes she lay there, savouring the temporary relief that the soothing coolness gave her.

It was gone eventually; she knew that it wouldn't last forever. And with the disappearance of the ice chip the fire in her throat returned, but she was relieved to note that its intensity had been lowered.

"Sam..." The woman stopped talking, her voice jerking to an unnatural halt.

Janet. Sam looked up at Janet, studying the face in front of her. Janet. It was Janet.

But it wasn't Janet. Janet had died. Sam had seen Janet die. She'd watched as the doctor died. She'd held her bleeding friend in her arms until what had made her Janet had left her pain riddled body and gone to a safer, happier place.

So how could Janet...?

And then reality came crashing down over her in a wave of horror.

What had she done?

---

_So be nice and review? It's likely to keep me motivated to actually finish this time!_


	2. Chapter 2

--- PART TWO 

---

"You wanted to see me, sir?" The ever-familiar words hung in the air between them as a pair of carefully controlled eyes conveyed curiosity. A curiosity, that Hammond knew, was carefully moderated. The owner of the brown eyes would never, _never_ let any more emotions show in those eyes than what he chose.

"Yes Colonel. Sit down." He motioned to the chair, his hand feeling heavy and clumsy as it waved about in the air.

His eyes strayed once again to the picture on his shelf by the door. The wedding picture.

Blinking firmly, he forced his attention on Jack O'Neill.

"How are you doing, Jack?" he asked, injecting just the right amount of fatherly concern into his voice.

"Just peachy," Jack shrugged, his eyes completely open and guileless. But Hammond knew that Jack was lying. He'd had Jack under his command for nearly three years now. Jack was lying. His emotions were never open and on display for the world to see. Why would they be now?

Hammond nodded. "Good. I want to temporarily reassign Dr. Jackson, Major Kowalski and Teal'c to other SG teams..."

"We're still on down time though," Jack pointed out, his narrowing as he studied Hammond.

"Jack... you've all been on base for the last week. Down time, the last time I checked - and I heard you telling this to a certain Dr. Carter a while ago - is supposed to be 'down' time. Time off base."

Jack swallowed.

_You're supposed to have fun on your down time, Sam, fun._

_This is fun, Jack._

_It is?_

_Yes._

_Fishing._

_What?_

_How about we go fishing._

_I don't know... I've been wanting to work on this..._

_Come on Sam. Fishing. A great big lake... fish this big... fun._

_Fishing? Fun?_

_Come on._

_I've heard about your lake Jack. It hasn't got any fish._

_  
Yes it does. They just haven't been caught yet. Smart fish, Sam. See, you'll like them. They're smart... like you._

"Jack?" Hammond frowned as Jack's eyes grew sorrowful, focusing on the wood of his desk.

"General?" Jack blinked, instantly snapping his mind out of the past and focusing on Hammond. "Sorry, Sir. I was thinking."

Hammond knew. He knew Jack was thinking about Sam. Hadn't he been the one to mention Sam in the first place?

"It's hard, isn't it?" Hammond sighed, watching Jack closely.

"What is, sir?" Jack opened his eyes innocently, playing dumb.

"Losing your wife." Hammond's gaze rested firmly on the wedding photo this time, his gaze focusing on the happy smiles of Jack and Sam. Sam had been his God-daughter, and Hammond had always had a soft spot for Jack. He'd considered them family, of sorts, and was aware that they had both returned the affection.

"Yes," Jack agreed after a lengthy silence. Hammond knew what it was like to lose the someone that kept your heart beating.

There was another silence in the office, and Hammond was surprised when Jack broke it. "We never caught anything."

"Pardon?" Hammond frowned, confused as to where Jack's mind was.

"Me and Sam. We went fishing one down time... before we..." He swallowed roughly, his eyes startled as he realised what he was suddenly revealing to Hammond. He wanted to stop, to close his mouth before something else slipped out. But he couldn't. He had to finish what he'd started, no matter how involuntarily. "We just sat and talked the whole time. About everything." He sighed. "And when she came up the next time, we just did it again. Just talked."

Hammond was surprised, to say the least. He hadn't thought they'd just sit and talk. It was none of his business what his officers and civilian employees got up to in their spare time, but he had been under the impression that the weekend trips up the cabin had been what resulted in the beginning of Jack and Sam's relationship.

Jack looked up in time to see the frown of confusion on Hammond's face. He smiled slightly, not showing anger or resentment for the obvious thought pattern his CO had been following.

He sighed then, looking back down at his hands before meeting Hammond's eyes again. "I don't think anyone will have a problem if you reassign them and cut their down time short."

"I didn't think so either." Hammond pursed his lips, letting his eyes rest on the wedding photo. They'd been good for each other. Not only themselves, but for those around them also. Daniel, because he needed love like that around him, even if it wasn't his own. Kowalski because it had had a settling effect on him, and Teal'c because he had to be reminded of what love was sometimes, even though he had a family of his own.

"Sir?" Jack hesitated, his voice almost squeaking as the syllable was strangled out of him.

Hammond raised an eyebrow, concerned at Jack's awkwardness and hesitancy. Hammond had never known Jack to hesitate or to be awkward.

"What's going to happen to her?"

Hammond paused. Her. What was going to happen to her? Stay here... go back... He blinked, clearing his thoughts. No matter what though, her being here had inadvertently stirred up memories and ghosts that would have been better off untouched.

"I don't know, Colonel. We'll have to wait and see."

"Sir?" Again the hesitation and awkwardness was found on his voice. "Is there a possibility that she'll stay here?"

"Yes." Hammond couldn't lie. If she wanted to stay, she could. That was already resolved with the brass. The opportunity of having Samantha Carter's brilliance back on this planet had proved to be too tempting for them to resist, and he had been encouraged to encourage her to want to stay.

No matter what the cost to any of them.

---

Her body pulsed in time to their footsteps; she could see glass panes in the window rattling as they ran.

She felt their iron fingers grip her tender flesh, felt the metal clad limbs digging into her skin and tearing at the flesh. But she couldn't scream in pain.

The world rushed past, a dizzying display of grey and black as she was dragged and yanked from room to room, corridor to corridor as their search for more people continued. But as each blur spun past her, as each form flashed itself across her eyes, she couldn't hear a sound.

The silence was still there. Hanging. Waiting. Holding on, tormenting her. She couldn't hear. Why couldn't she hear?

And then she was thrown to the ground, her wind knocked out of her as her battered body connected with the concrete floor, her skull once again cracking a sickening staccato on the ground.

Hands were helping her up; guiding her carefully so that she was resting against a wall while someone wiped the blood from her lips and chin. She watched as her blood mixed with someone else's blood already staining the once white handkerchief a bright crimson colour. And she shuddered, not in disgust, but in grief.

They'd lost.

Once again the numbness faded as she opened her eyes, and the tension of her jaw gritting her teeth was enough to send bolts of pain running along her skull and exploding over her vision.

A soft moan escaped from between her lips, drawing the doctor's attention to her.

"Shhh..." Janet smoothed the damp golden strands of hair off of the woman's pale forehead, and then frowned in concern as her eyelids flickered, fighting desperately against the unconsciousness.

"Janet?" The whisper was hoarse, scratching against her throat, but Janet felt her own throat constrict as the word laced its way into the air and then gently dissipated into nothing.

"I'm here, it's okay." Janet soothed, reaching for another ice chip as the startling blue eyes finally flickered open and travelled wearily around the room.

Janet. It was the first time She'd spoken, the first time her voice was heard. Janet. She hadn't been calling for her, Janet realised from afar as she carefully slipped the ice chip between the woman's dry lips. She'd been calling for _her_ Janet.

Maybe one day she'd stop looking at this woman and seeing her as a replacement for a long lost friend. Maybe one day she'd stop analysing everything that happened because of this woman, everything she felt when she thought about this woman. But for now, she couldn't do that. She had to put her own emotions on hold for the time being, and deal with this woman first.

Help this woman first. Undoubtedly, this woman was going to go through the same experience as all of them, and there was nothing anyone could do to ease the pain.

"I'm sorry." The strangled sound forced its way out of her throat again, scratching in the air and driving a spike deeper into Janet's heart.

"For what?" She asked, unable to stop her hands from continuing the soothing pattern on Her forehead.

"You died. I couldn't stop it... Janet?" The garbled words coupled with the confused grief struck a chord in Janet's heart. So what if this woman wasn't the one they had lost, so what if she was another version of Sam. This woman - Sam - was still essentially the same being. There would be differences, it was inevitable, but now, lying here on the bed in pain and grief, this woman _was_ Sam.

"What is it honey?" Janet checked her pulse, satisfaction at the result creeping through her. Steady. It was steady. The longest it had been steady yet. She was improving, she was getting better. She'd make it.

"You're not her, are you?" Sam whispered suddenly, realisation darkening her eyes as she gazed up at the doctor, her expression strangely lucid.

"No, I'm not." Janet agreed softly, the words sending another stab through her. She wasn't really Sam to them, just like they weren't really who she knew.

"How long..." She struggled to form the words, exhaustion and pain starting to gain the upper hand once again.

"Five days." Janet answered gently.

A frown of fleeting confusion brushed across her features. "That's not possible. The failure..." She hesitated, her eyes meeting Janet's. "I'm dead in this reality, aren't I?"

Janet choked back a sob at the bluntly spoken words. Sam was dead in this reality, where as the woman lying on the bed was very much alive and getting better.

"Yes." Janet's being screamed at the inaccuracies... but it was the truth. The universe recognised both woman as being the same, so why couldn't she?

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, before her eyes fluttered closed and she allowed the terrifying, soundless darkness to claim her once again.

Janet closed her eyes and sighed. Soon she was going to have to stop giving her sedatives. She was getting better; the sedatives were only used to stop the nightmares that still persisted and to ease the pain.

And then what? How would they function then?

---

Hammond stood silently in the infirmary, watching Dr. Jackson as he spoke to the 'new' Sam Carter. He was looking fairly relaxed, but there was a shadow in his eye that reminded Hammond of the truth.

"Janet said you're almost 100 again."

She nodded and smiled sadly. "I've been walking through the SGC."

"And?"

She hesitated. "It's different. And strange. There are so many faces I recognise. Lieutenant Allen didn't even know who I was."

That was because Dr. Carter had died before Allen had been transferred.

"Oh. You knew her well in your reality?" Daniel asked, watching as Sam paced around her small room.

"Fairly. Our labs were co-joined and-"

"Allen's lab is also off Sam's one," Daniel inserted with a slight excitement on his voice.

The excitement died abruptly. Sam's lab. Hammond closed his eyes and took a deep breath before entering the infirmary.

"General Hammond, sir!" Sam smiled up at him, and Daniel shot him a look of relief.

"How are you feeling, Sam?"

She frowned slightly, but shrugged. "Much better, sir."

Nodding, Hammond moved closer to her bed.

"I've got to talk to you," he said unnecessarily.

Instantly Daniel jumped up and offered his chair, which Hammond accepted silently.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, Sam."

"Sure, Daniel. I'll see you then."

With a final wave Daniel almost ran out of the infirmary.

"How are you doing, Sam?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "I'm fine, General. It's strange here, sir… the variations are all so unexpected-"

Sir? She called him sir?

"General?"

"I've had a phone call from the higher powers, and they're all in agreement that you can stay."

She smiled at him, but it failed to reach his eyes. He was sure his smile also failed to reach his eyes. "That's good, sir."

"Of course, we're going to have to come up with a cover story for why you left and 'faked' your death-"

This was so hard.

"- and you're going to have to go over Sam's history and memorise any differences to yours."

She studied him quietly, searching his eyes. Her eyes were controlled. All her actions were controlled. She was much too controlled, he decided.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"For what?"

"That she died. You all miss her a lot."

"Yes," he acknowledged, "we do miss her a lot."

Swallowing, she looked down at her hands before looking up at him. "Sir, I'm not her. I know I look like her and sound like her, but I'm not her. Just like you're not my-" She cut herself off abruptly.

"We know that," he said gently. "And it's going to be hard. For all of us."

She nodded silently.

"But you're going to try, Sam."

She nodded again. "I will, sir. I won't fail you, I promise."

And then he knew. "You're military."

She glanced up at him, surprised. "Of course."

He closed his eyes. Crap. "Sam wasn't."

For a second there was no reaction. Her mouth opened slowly and her eyes widened. She gazed at him; stunned. "Not…she wasn't?"

He shook his head. Military? Sam? Sam couldn't use a gun if her life depended on it, much less to sit-ups or push-ups.

"Was she… SG-1…"

"You were on SG-1?" Again, news to him.

"Yes. Colonel O'Neill, Teal'c, Daniel and myself."

_Colonel _ O'Neill? "No, Kowalski is on SG-1. Sam's a scientist. She stays on base and only goes to worlds…" Present tense. He was still using present tense concerning Sam, even after six months.

"Kowalski died in my reality," Sam murmured, her eyes thoughtful.

Hammond closed his eyes. _Colonel _ O'Neill. "You're not married to him, are you?"

"Kowalski?" She almost snorted. "No. He died a few weeks after I met him for the first time."

"I meant Jack."

"He's my CO."

"No, he's not."

She gazed at him, suspicious.

"Sam, in this reality you were married. You and Jack. You were married for about a year and then you… she… died."

Her mouth dropped open.

"Have you seen him at all?"

She shook her head slowly, stunned.

"Sam…"

A strangled sound escaped her, and then a tear trickled from beneath one tightly shut eyelid. "I thought…when he didn't come to see me…I thought…"

"What?"

"I thought he died. With her."

No. It had been close, but Jack hadn't died. Jack was still alive.

"He… he hasn't been to see you because… because…"

"It's okay, sir." She drew in a shuddering breath. "I understand. I look like her and I'm not her…"

She did know. She really did know.

"You loved him."

She opened her eyes and looked at him, breathing deeply. "I don't know. I could have. We never said anything though. The regulations…"

"It's okay, Sam. You're not in the military anymore. I won't court marshall you."

And she didn't look particularly happy about that.

"I'm… could I be excused, sir?"

He nodded silently, passing her the manila folder as she rose unsteadily to her feet. "May I ask where you're going?"

"My lab, sir."

And he couldn't argue, because it was _her_ lab now.

---

She should be grateful, she knew that much.

But knowing that she should be grateful, and actually being grateful were two completely different things.

Sam sighed and pushed away from her desk, sitting back on her chair and surveying the room around her.

It was different to how she remembered it - which was a good thing. The walls had been repainted - they were a cheery yellow colour with white trimmings. An odd colour for a lab, she thought almost idly, how on earth had they convinced Hammond to do it?

Then again, he wasn't the Hammond she was used to dealing with. And they weren't the people she was used to dealing with.

And, she frowned as she looked around, for all she knew the lab could have been yellow and white from the start.

"Sam?"

She turned and faced Daniel, offering a tight smile as she got up out of her chair.

"No, don't bother getting up. I just came to see how you were," he waved her back into her chair, sitting himself down on an empty bench.

The benches were never empty in her lab, she remembered with a pang.

"I'm fine. Just looking around," she smiled again, but her eyes stung and she turned her gaze back onto the yellow walls to try and avoid his understanding blue eyes.

"And?"

"And what?" She was confused by the expectation in his voice; she still didn't know how to read him properly.

"How do you like it?"

She swallowed, breathing deeply before responding. "It's… It's different to my lab, Daniel."

He was silent as he waited for her to continue.

"The walls are yellow. My walls weren't yellow, and I had a plant. A purple plant that nearly died four times when we were lost off world because no one remembered to water it…" she trailed off, her eyes burning.

"Red," Daniel was also fighting tears, she could tell by the sheen in his eyes and the crack on his voice. "Her flowers were red."

A chuckle escaped, and she rubbed her hands roughly through her hair while his smile turned to a bittersweet grimace.

"You okay?" She stepped towards him instinctively, and he didn't seem to mind.

Her and Daniel had always been like that; ready to comfort one another at the drop of a hat.

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm fine. It's just…" he hesitated, casting an uncertain look in her direction before deciding to continue. "Your hair is short, and… and I feel really guilty for thinking this, but I prefer it shorter."

Again, her lips twitched into a smile and her eyes stung as she hugged him.

His fingers clutched desperately at her clothing and he buried her head against his shoulder. "We miss her," he whispered hoarsely, apologetically.

"And I miss them."

---

She watched silently as Hammond closed the manila folder slowly, his hands smoothing the creamy cardboard gently.

Her stomach lurched and she reached for the folder with a trembling hand.

Her history. Her life. Her entire past was contained in these few pages. Thousands of memories. Millions of minutes and seconds.

And none of them were hers. But she was going to have to read them all, and make them hers.

"Is that all, sir?" she asked softly, fingering the crisp pages gently.

"Yes," Hammond nodded, and she knew that his eyes were also locked onto the folder now held firmly in her grasp. "Doctor-"

"Sam," she stated firmly, clenching her jaws together in an attempt to stop the tears.

"Pardon?" He blinked in confusion.

"Please, sir, if you're going to call me anything, call me Sam." It was an unusual request to make, and the expression on his face showed it. "It'll be easier, sir. For everyone. You won't… you won't all be reminded who you lost every time you talk to me, and I can still pretend that I'm in the military."

There was doubt on his face at her logic, she could see the concern written clearly in his eyes: he was worried about her denial. They all were.

She was too; she couldn't pretend things were still the same forever. But for now, pretending made it that much easier to bear, that much easier to accept without the pain.

"Very well. SG-1 should be back from their mission shortly. When they arrive I'll explain how all of this is going to be possible."

She nodded silently; there wasn't really anything else she could do.

---

Jack's stomach was tied in knots. Not just itty bitty little nervous knots, but big honking knots of terror.

"Colonel, you alright?"

He nodded at Hammond, not trusting his voice.

They entered the briefing room silently, and his heart jerked painfully in his chest. She was there; sitting quietly in the chair she had always occupied before-

He stamped on the memories ruthlessly.

"Now that we're all here, I'll explain how the cover-story works." Hammond waited until they were all settled. "It isn't a secret outside of the SGC that Dr. Carter-" He hesitated, his eyes flitting from Sam to Jack, "-worked for a top secret military facility. Which is why we can say that her death was staged."

There was silence in the briefing room for a second.

"As far as the rest of the world will be concerned, Sam Carter never died. She went into a witness-protection scheme and can finally come out."

Jack digested the news silently.

"So... Will she..."

"She's got to be who she was before," Hammond said gently. "In the eyes of the law and everyone on this planet, the two of you are married. She didn't die, she just left for six months."

Jack cast a quick glance at the woman - he still couldn't bring himself to think of her as Sam. She was pale, lines of tension around her eyes and lips. He remembered how to get rid of those lines by-

He swallowed roughly. She wasn't his wife. She wasn't Sam.

Sam was dead.

"It doesn't have to stay that way," Hammond said gently, his eyes focused firmly on the wall behind Jack.

He shot another glance towards the woman.

An uncomfortable silence settled onto them.

"Well... dismissed." If Hammond sounded any surer he would have asked them what he had to say.

Jack got silently to his feet, ignoring the looks he was getting from Tealc, Fraiser and Daniel.

"Jack."

He sighed, turning to face Daniel with a look on his face that would have scared braver men. "What?"

"Aren't you forgetting someone?" Daniel whispered, jerking his head back over his shoulder.

Jack glanced into the briefing room. The woman was still sitting there, her eyes focused resolutely on the desk. Jack knew from long experience that she was fighting to keep the tears away.

He swallowed.

It wasn't Sam.

"It will become more difficult the longer you leave it, O'Neill," Teal'c warned gently before leaving the room.

"Talk to her, Jack," Daniel urged, his eyes sincere as he gazed at Jack.

Jack sighed again, pushing his hands through his hair. "Okay. Okay."

Fraiser smiled approvingly, but he could see the sorrow in her eyes. She understood. She understood that they were getting a replacement. Why couldn't anyone else see that? He didn't want a replacement. He wanted Sam. The real thing. Not... someone who looked like Sam.

They left the room one after the other, until it was just himself and the woman who looked like Sam.

She was still staring at the desk, her gaze unmoving while her fingers stroked the worn cardboard of the manila folder with an agitation he could relate to.

"It's not going to get any smoother," he stated.

"Pardon?" She looked up at him, thrown by his comment.

"The cardboard. It won't get smoother no matter how much you rub at it."

"Oh, and you know this for a fact do you?" she demanded harshly, and he was shocked at the bitterness in her gaze.

Oh, this was a bad idea. Very bad idea.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down again. "It's just... it's so hard, sir."

Sir.

The word hurt more than a Hand Device.

"Oh yeah," he agreed, jamming his hands awkwardly into his pocket.

The silence was awkward and strained, stretching between them like a chasm of years.

"Look, I-" They both started at the same time.

She giggled nervously, wringing her fingers together. "You first."

Jack stared down at the carpet, scuffing his worn sneaker on the rich covering. "I guess you need a ride, huh?" he said eventually.

"To where?" She frowned in confusion.

"Home," he shrugged, his insides clenching again tightly at the thought of taking this impostor home with him.

She gazed up at him uncertainly for a second.

"You are clear to go, aren't you?" his voice was harsher than he intended, and she flinched slightly at his tone. But she faced him determinedly and nodded, seeming to have lost the ability to speak. "You ready then?"

She swallowed, he watched the movement down at her throat, and nodded again.

"Okay then. Come on."

And he turned without a further word, leading her towards the elevator.

---

_Please take a moment to tell me what you think._


	3. Chapter 3

--- PART THREE 

---

She was silent as the scenery flew by the window, enjoying the feel of the sun on her face and noting small changes with a detached interest.

"Is it different?" he asked at length.

"What?" Sam didn't look away from the window. "The scenery?"

"Yeah."

"Well, considering the last time I laid eyes on the surface it was all blown up and ruined, yes."

He didn't answer her bitter words, reaching instead to turn the music up louder. That suited her just fine she decided, jutting her chin out determinedly.

"You missed the turn off!" she exclaimed suddenly, watching them pass the road.

"No I haven't," he glanced around him, making sure.

Sam froze, her mouth open in shock. "Sorry.. I..." He glanced at her through the corner of his eye, and she turned to him apologetically. "I wasn't thinking, sir."

"That's unusual." The words were out before he could stop them. They froze, and then she turned to him slowly. He glanced at her again.

The laughter came from somewhere inside of her, she didn't know where, and bubbled free to send the tension in the car flying out the window.

He smiled despite himself, unable to tear his eyes from her as she laughed.

And then her laughter turned to tears, which she desperately tried to stop, rubbing frantically at her face with both hands while sniffing loudly.

Had it been Sam he would have stopped the car and pulled over, offered her a hug and a kiss of support. Had it been Sam he would put and an arm around her and pulled her close to him, kissing her hair and resting his head on hers.

But it wasn't Sam.

He kept driving.

The pain blossomed on her side, the red blood welling up and blooming like a rose over her green clothing. She lost her footing, stumbled against the wall and left behind a smeared trail of blood as the acrid odour of scorched flesh curled its way through her nostrils and burnt itself into her memory.

"Jaffa, Kree!" The clanking echoes of metal clad soldiers boomed down the hallway. Their strides still sickeningly in time with one another, grated on her ears and thumped along with her rapid heartbeat.

Fingers scrabbled madly in the rubble spread over the floor, torn finger pads meeting with shattered glass, spent shells and the familiar, sickening stickiness of warm blood.

"Damn it, Daniel! No!" She choked on the sob, fighting the urge to close her eyes and give in to the darkness starting to cloud on her vision. "No!" she screamed again, smashing her elbow against the wall in a gesture of complete frustration.

The clanks slowed down, their strides now slightly out of time as they positioned themselves to round the corner. Her hands clutched frantically at the limp body, her eyes watching the corner around which they were going to appear.

Her fingers closed over the object she sought, the weakened digits barely able to prise it from the death grip that held onto it, and she staggered to her feet, leaving fresh streaks of blood on the grey wall.

Each step she took, fire arced up her side, into her arms and down to her toes. Each breath brought a stabbing pain into her lungs until she felt that each small, cool mouthful of air she inhaled was immediately doused by the fire burning inside her lungs, a million hot needles stabbing at her relentlessly so that it grew harder and harder to remember, to _force_ herself to breath.

They were nearly on her, their loud steps now once again in time, drowning out all the noise around her, suffocating her small gasps for breath and her moans of pain.

Through the smokey haze of pain and dust she saw her target.

Fifty paces.

Forty paces.

She staggered forwards, her foot catching on a stray piece of metal, and she fell heavily, darkness impairing her vision as a disjointed crack sounded throughout her skull.

Coughing she pulled herself upright, hugging the cold wall for support, ignoring the screams of agony her body was sending her. Another step. Another stagger…

Thirty paces.

Her tongue was swollen; rough against the roof her mouth. All she could see through the curtain of agony was the doorway in front of her, the solid grey paint never seemed so incredibly beautiful to her.

Twenty paces.

They were gaining on her. She could hear their shouts clearly now, imagine the way their 'eyes' glowed red as they relished the prospect of closing in on their prey.

Fifteen paces.

She might make it. Her fingers clutched the object tightly as she stumbled again, sobbing with each choking breath she drew. Everything started to fade. All that mattered was the door. The end of her travels. The end to all of this.

Ten paces.

Through another doorway, ahead to her goal. She heard a shout behind her, the foreign word hanging heavily in the air. An energy bolt skittered past her and she threw herself against the wall, stumbling on towards her goal.

Five paces.

They were behind her now, they could see her ahead of them and she could almost smell the scent of their excitement above the scent of her own blood soaked, burnt flesh.

Three paces.

A ball of bile rose in her throat as another blast raced past her, catching her right elbow. She grunted in pain, but stumbled forwards.

As her fingers closed over the doorknob, she gave in to the urge to laugh in success before throwing the door open and nearly falling into the small room. Ignoring the numbness creeping over her, the screaming, constant ache in every part of her body, she dug into her pocket and pulled out a cold, smooth metal ball.

She watched them as they approached her, weapons at the ready. Their quick, relentless pace made her long, difficult journey up the short hallway seem pitiful.

Her teeth closed over the pin and she pulled it out slowly, the satisfying feel of the metal being released into her mouth giving her a surge of strength to throw the grenade them. She watched the confusion on their faces as the small object flew towards them, and then swung the door shut, leaning heavily against it until it shuddered slightly as the explosion rocked the hallway outside.

The hand that grabbed hold of the bolt was shaky, her fingers refusing to take hold of the metal pin and slide it into place. Giving up she turned around and let her eyes get accustomed to the darkness.

The object in her hand was heavy, and she looked down at it. Touching the small dial, a window of light sprang into life in front of her. She flicked the dial quickly, searching desperately.

A bang on the door behind her jerked her out of her false bubble of safety and she glanced quickly at the strangely peaceful scene in front of her before reaching out a hand and touching the soft, humming pane of glass.

A slight shock ran over her, no more than the sensation of a spider web brushing gently against her skin.

And then she was free.

Gasping, Sam sat upright on the bed, the night air cold on her sweat soaked skin. Pressing against her cheeks with her hands, Sam struggled to control her breathing.

Real. It was still so real.

She could still smell the stench of her burnt flesh; her throat still constricted by the dust.

She could feel Daniel's blood seeping out of his chest, running onto the ground and dissolving into the dust of the ruined SGC.

It had been too late. For all of them. They'd all died.

Shivering in the cold air, Sam wiped away her scalding tears and scrambled out of bed, kicking the tangled sheets from her legs and staggering across the woollen rug covering the wooden floor.

Water. She just needed a drink of water to calm her down and bring her back down to reality. A drink of water, some fresh air and she'd be fine.

She was always fine.

She had to be fine.

Padding softly along the carpeted hallway, careful to tiptoe past what she knew was the Colonel's bedroom so that she didn't wake him up, Sam made her way into the kitchen. The room was silent apart from the steady tick of the clock and the unobtrusive hum of his refrigerator. Standing there in the dark room with only the dim green glow of the oven's digital clock, she shivered again.

Where were the glasses kept anyway?

If she had to hazard a guess, she'd say in the cupboard next to the refrigerator.

Quietly flicking on the light, she moved across to the cupboard and opened it to reveal a shelf full of neatly stacked, clean glasses. The glass was cold and smooth beneath her fingers.

Running the tap until the glass was full, Sam let her gaze drift out of the window as she took a slow sip of the cold liquid. It washed down her oesophagus; the coldness curdling in the pit of her stomach as she shivered again.

It was unreal.

All of it.

Like a dream.

Standing here, watching the solitary car drive past his house while the headlights washed over the kitchen in a warm glow, it felt like a dream. A peaceful, quiet dream that was easily believable in the ethereal darkness of the night.

Come morning, when the sun shone and chased away the shadows she was hiding in, reality would present itself starkly and coldly.

She was married to Jack O'Neill.

She wasn't in the military.

Kowalski was alive.

Her lab was yellow and her plants had been red.

God, this world was fucked up.

She sighed and rested her forehead on the cold glass, her breath fogging up the surface until all the outside lights and stars blurred together in a soft glow. A single tear was hot on her cold skin.

"What are you doing?"

She jerked around, the glass slipping from between her cold fingers and shattering on the ground.

The Colonel looked just as shocked as she was, his hair standing in all directions and his eyes wildly confused as he gazed at her.

"I'm…sorry…I… I was just getting a drink," she stammered, the cold liquid seeping around her feet and the shards of glass glinting brightly in the kitchen light.

"Don't move, you've got bare feet. I'll get a broom." His words were curt, delivered emotionlessly, the same way his eyes now studied her emotionlessly.

He must have loved her, she realised suddenly, the pain sharp as it knifed through her.

Her Colonel.

He was dead now.

Her eyes stung with hot tears that pricked painfully against her eyelids.

She would not cry. She would not cry.

Swallowing, she watched him approach with a yellow dustpan and broom. She didn't move as he knelt at her feet, his back muscles rippling in the dim light as his arms quickly and efficiently swept up the soggy, sharp mess on the ground before her.

"Don't move yet, there's still glass there."

She looked down at the ground in front of her. Was she going to have to stand here all night until it was dry enough for him to use a vacuum cleaner on the tiles?

There was a crashing sound of glass falling on glass as he emptied the scoop into the bin and then carefully placed it back into the cupboard where it belonged. He seemed to hesitate a moment, and she saw his shoulders and back move slowly as he drew in a deep breath, gathering himself.

Gathering himself. For what?

He turned back to her, his face carefully controlled. "I'm going to…pick you up and move you, okay?"

She nodded mutely, and gathered her own thoughts as he approached her again.

"Hold on," he whispered, coming to a standstill next to her.

He was so close that if she turned her head she'd brush his neck with her lips, his scent clogged her senses and that deep wrench of grief tore through her again.

They both jerked as though they'd been shocked when he touched her, uncertainty flickering in their eyes before it was masked again. His jaw was held stiffly as he carefully picked her up. She put her arms around his neck, her eyes stinging as she experienced the way his skin felt beneath her hands.

Her eyes were burning with unshed tears as he placed her down again, well away from where the glass shards were still shimmering wetly in the light.

"You… you okay?" he asked gruffly, stepping back from her while his eyes flicked awkwardly around the kitchen.

"Yeah."

He shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot before stepping backwards again. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

She watched him walk out of the room, flicking the light off behind himself and plunging her into a world of darkness.

Gasping she leant against the fridge and slid down alongside it until she was pooled on the ground in a crumpled ball, sobs tearing at her throat.

She missed him.

She missed them all.

---

Jack was in a bad mood.

Glaring at the Airmen at the check in point, he marched silently into the auxiliary elevator without even signing his name.

Sam - _she_ - was following some distance behind him, her eyes shadowed and dark as she almost crawled along the ground.

He'd heard her crying as he'd left the kitchen.

But what was he supposed to do? She wasn't his wife. She wasn't the woman he loved, no matter how much she looked like Sam.

Silently she got into the carriage with him and he sullenly punched the button that would take them to her lab. Then he was off to see Kowalski.

He snuck a glance at her; she looked like crap.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jack watched as the numbers slowly crept towards Sub Level 21.

Who was he trying to kid? Only himself, obviously. Sighing, he closed his eyes and opened his mouth ready to speak.

Nothing came out.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

This time he croaked, and she shot him a hesitant glance before turning back to her study of the ground. She seemed to spend a lot of time staring at the ground.

The elevator pinged and he glanced up at the numbers in surprise. Well, that had gone quick.

Silently she shuffled out of the elevator. They exchanged an awkward glance again, both pretending they hadn't really been looking at one another, before they separated and she headed down to her lab while he pressed the elevator button again.

This was so screwed up.

---

Why did he feel like she was his responsibility?

And why did everyone seem to think so too, he wondered angrily. It wasn't like she was his wife. If anything, the guy who gave her permission to stay should be the one looking after her.

He cringed. That was harsh. Much harsher than she deserved. It wasn't her fault Sam had died; that was his fault entirely. It wasn't her fault the Goa'uld had wiped out Earth in her reality, though she seemed to think so.

And it wasn't her fault that she'd been allowed to stay.

Sighing, Jack turned his attention back to Hammond.

Hammond was watching him silently, obviously waiting for an answer to a question Jack hadn't been paying attention too. Could this day get any worse?

"What are you going to do now, Jack?" Hammond asked gently.

Jack. This meant it was a personal conversation. Jack hated personal conversations, he'd been having way too many of them lately.

"I don't know, sir." Maybe go home and have a few drinks, drown his sorrows in the amber liquid… might just drown himself too while he was at it.

Hammond frowned in concern. "What about Cassandra, Jack?"

Cassie. He flinched. "What about her?"

Hammond hesitated. "You're going to have to see her again soon, Jack."

Jack clenched his jaw. No. He wasn't going to see Cassie. He wasn't going to get close to her again, only to have his daughter die on him as well.

"Jack, she's already hurt enough. Janet says-"

"I can't, sir. Not now."

"What about Sam? Doesn't she deserve the right to have her daughter?"

"Cass isn't _her_ daughter," Jack retorted scathingly.

"You're certainly not acting as if she's yours either. And as much as she loves Janet and Janet loves her, she's not Janet's daughter, Jack. She's yours. And Sam's."

Jack clenched his jaw. "I know that."

Hammond shook his head slowly, disappointment evident in his gaze. "Doesn't Sam at least get a say in the matter?"

"What are we going to tell Cassie, sir? How can we explain to her that Sam isn't dead anymore?" The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Sam was dead. This was a substitute they were talking about.

Hammond sighed, and Jack cringed. He knew what was coming, he could tell.

"Jack, if we want this charade to work, if we want to at least give this Sam Carter a chance – God knows, she deserves one – then we're going to have to make it as close as possible to what it used to be. If you choose not to be married in a year or so, that's fine, everyone will understand that the witness protection could do that to a marriage… but now? Now you have to try and be a family. For Cassie's sake and Sam's sake.

He hated it when Hammond threw the emotional blackmail cards on the table.

"So we don't tell Cass that Sam isn't really Sam?"

That sounded so weird. And it grieved him to think it was true.

"No. We don't."

Closing his eyes, Jack nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay, I'll do it."

"Good. Janet's already got Cassie ready to go home."

Jack's eyes flew open, and he glared at Hammond. Damn, the man and the doctor knew him too well. Damn his conscience.

---

She was pissed at him. Actually, pissed didn't even begin to cover it.

But at least it felt normal. Having someone pissed at him, that is. There was always someone who was mad at him, someone who hated him for some reason.

And today it was Cassie's turn.

Not that he blamed her of course; she didn't ask for her second mother to die. She didn't ask to be 'given' to Janet on a long-term basis while Jack tried to sort himself out again. She didn't ask for him to abandon her.

But he had done all of that, so she was pissed.

Shooting a glance at his sullen daughter glaring out the window next to him, Jack sighed. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. How was he supposed to tell her that Sam was back, in a manner of speaking?

A thought struck him.

If she thought that the real Sam was back, she was going to expect him to behave as though the real Sam was back.

Jack O'Neill could do most things when he put his mind to it, but pretending that she was really Sam… not even he could do that.

Silently he stopped the car and turned around, turning the car so that it was heading towards Cheyenne Mountain again. Not yet. He couldn't deal with this yet.

"Where are we going?"

"I forgot something."

Cassie grunted – she grunted? – and turned her gaze back out the window.

"It's okay to yell at me," he said eventually, slowly down at an intersection.

"It won't do anything," Cassie shrugged. "It won't change anything."

"No, it won't," he agreed slowly. "But it'll make you feel better."

She remained silent.

"Why did you leave?" she asked eventually.

Not that question.

"Because…I needed…Cass…"

"Don't lie to me!" she snapped, glaring at him.

Lie to her. Ha, if only she realised that in a few hours time her whole life would be built around one very large lie.

"I didn't leave _you_, Cass…" he started out.

"Yes, you did. You left me. At Janet's. With a pair of pajama's and my toothbrush."

He flinched. Okay, so it had been a hasty decision. But…

"I needed to deal with it."

"We could have dealt with it together! You're supposed to be my Dad, Jack, and you dumped me. The first time I really need you, you dumped me."

He glanced at her, looking at the 13 year old. Maturity didn't even begin to cover it; she was old inside. What she'd been through… Sam dying, him leaving, her world being wiped out,old.

"I couldn't, Cass. You wouldn't have understood then-"

"I am not a baby, Jack!"

"Since when do you call me Jack?" he deflected the statement.

"Since you stopped being my Dad."

Now _that_ hurt. But he deserved it.

"Can I ever be your Dad again?"

She was quiet, her little jaw clenched and her red brown hair glinting dangerously in the light of the setting sun.

"Cass…" and _now_ he was about to lie to her. Big time.

"What?"

"We would have been dealing with different issues."

"Mom died, Dad. She died. How can that possibly be different issues?"

He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry.

He wasn't going to cry.

"She didn't die, Cass."

He was crying. Not overtly, but the burning in his eyes and the way the road in front of him turned blurry all indicated tears were in his eyes. A scalding droplet trickled down his cheek. Yes, he was crying.

"She didn't… Dad?"

He stopped the car and pulled into a spot under some trees. She was terrified; he could see the panic rising in her brown eyes as she shrunk away from him, pressing her body against the car door.

"It was… a set up…she didn't…"

"But I saw her… she…"

Resting his head in his hands he leant on the steering wheel. "She was hurt… but she got better."

"You… what the hell are you talking about?" she demanded. He could hear her hands fumbling with her seat belt.

"Witness protection," he mumbled.

He could see Sam, lying on the bed, calm and still. The machines were silent and her skin was cold. Clammy.

She died.

"What… Dad?"

Cassie was crying, mascara sticking to her cheeks as she furiously wiped away at the tears, black smudges streaking across her pale skin.

"She's back, Cass."

But not the way you think, he added silently, pulling her into his arms. She might have been thirteen, she have might been older than her years inside, but he could still hold her small body on his lap and tuck her head against his neck, and hold her while she cried. Her fingers dug into his back as she clutched at him, her tears hot and wet against his skin.

"Cass…" he murmured. "I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry."

And she cried.

---

He stood in front of the phone hesitantly, his eyes feeling raw and scratchy, the remnants of his crying fest.

To phone or not to phone, that was the question.

Phone. He had to phone. He couldn't just spring this on her and expect her to know how to act when he brought Cassie home.

Brought Cassie home. At least he'd have one real member of his family back.

Gripping the receiver tightly with on hand, Jack slowly started to dial his home number.

"Hello?"

Oh crap, she answered. Now what?

"Hello?"

"Uh….hi…" What the hell did he call her? He couldn't call her Sam – that was just plain wrong and asking waaay too much – and he couldn't very well call her 'She', could he?

"Who is this?"

"Me…" Jack or Colonel O'Neill? This was so awkward.

"Colonel?"

"Yeah…"

"Oh. Are you okay, sir?" Her voice also sounded distinctly wobbly.

"I'm… I'm fine. I'm just calling to tell you that I'm bringing Cassie home."

There was a silence. "Cassie?"

"Yeah, Cassie."

"Where's Janet?"

"At home." Now he was just plain confused.

"So… isn't it a bit soon to introduce me to Cassie again? I haven't even read all the details in my folder…"

That's what he thought, but that's not what Hammond and the rest thought. "Hammond said we had to, to make it look real." The words got stuck in his throat.

Again, a silence.

"You still there?" he asked eventually.

"Is…is Cass…"

His eyes widened. "Cassandra. Our-" he stopped abruptly. Ours. No, she wasn't his and hers, she his and Sam's.

He bit his lips, using the pain to fight the fresh flood of tears.

"Colonel… are you saying that I adopted Cassie?"

"Not you. Sam and I did."

That must have hurt her as much as it hurt him. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

"Shit…" she breathed eventually, and he almost dropped the phone. Shit? Since when did she say 'shit'? Sam never swore-

This wasn't Sam.

"I just thought… I just thought I'd let you know."

"Thank you, sir." The response was automatic.

"And… we have to make it look real," he added, hating the way the words caught in his throat.

"Real?"

"Like you're really her."

She was quiet again.

"You're going to have to stop calling me 'sir' and 'Colonel' all the time and call me Jack."

Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. "Then you're going to have to call me Sam."

He licked his lips. "Okay."

"So we have to…"

"Play act," he filled in.

"Okay. Are there any rituals… or anything I should know about?"

He thought about it. "Welcome home kisses… have the coffee on… table set for three in the kitchen – we don't eat in the dining room." It was surprisingly easy to map out Sam's day for her.

"Are you sure you're not making this up so you get a free house keeper, sir?" she asked, and he could hear her drawing her breath in.

That was the kind of joke Sam would make.

He closed his eyes. "I'm sure, S_am_." There. He'd done it. He'd called her Sam.

"I'll… I'll see you soon then?"

"Yeah. I'm at the SGC. I've just got to get something from my office and then Cass and I will head home."

"Where is she?"

"She's busy telling General Hammond off for lying to her."

"About what?"

It was an irony, Jack realised, that Cassie should be chewing Hammond out for 'pretending' that Sam died, when she really had died.

It was an irony he really wished hadn't happened.

"I'll see you soon then, sir," she repeated.

"Yeah. Bye…"

"Bye."

It was only after he hung up that he realised she still called him sir.

---

_So. Comments, thoughts, anything? Please!_


	4. Chapter 4

--- PART FOUR 

---

Carefully adjusting the forks and wiping an imaginary speck of dirt off the table, Sam realised she was ready. There was nothing left to do. Nothing except for waiting, that was.

Smoothing her sweaty hands over her trousers, Sam stood back and surveyed her work. It looked pretty darn good, actually. The plates were all symmetrical, the forks and knives lined up… Even the food smelt good. She'd just shoved a macaroni and cheese frozen meal in the oven and turned it on, and put some potatoes on to boil for some mash. Not the best meal ever, but Sam was pretty sure Cassie like Macaroni and Cheese.

So did the Colonel, but that wasn't the point.

She wished they'd hurry up and arrive.

She wished they'd never arrive.

She wished they'd hurry up and arrive.

Grinding her teeth in pure nervousness, Sam moved out of the kitchen and into the lounge room. She hadn't been in here yet, she realised, and she was surprised by what she saw.

Photos. Lots of photos, just the way she liked it. Of the Colonel, his wife and Cassie.

Crossing over to the mantelpiece, she carefully picked one up and studied it. Obviously taken not long after they'd gotten married, she deduced, judging by the way their hands were all over one another. The next photo had Cassie in it as well; her hair still long and curly the way it was when she'd first arrived from Hanka. There were shadows and uncertainties in her eyes.

Gingerly Sam stroked a finger down Cassie's cheek.

Was this what she'd missed out on? Was this what her life choices had stolen from her?

If she hadn't joined the military, would her world still be around? Would she have been married to the Colonel? Would she have died?

She felt guilty that she was alive and not the real Sam of this universe. Sam couldn't remember ever being or looking as happy as the woman in the photograph. Sam would have given anything to be that happy.

Maybe…maybe one day she'd find that happiness. But it was looking doubtful.

Outside she heard a car door slam, and her heart rate increased tenfold.

Here. They were here. Shit.

Brushing her hair back smoothly behind her ears and straightening her shirt for the umpteenth time, Sam slowly headed towards the front door. With an ominous creak it swung open and revealed one thin, lanky adolescent standing uncertainly next to the Colonel.

Cassie.

Sam hesitated, her eyes flicking desperately up the Colonel's for help; what was she supposed to do?

An inarticulate sound escaped from the girl's throat, and the next minute Sam was holding the crying child close against her, their tears mingling as Cassie's hot breath washed against her neck and her tears burnt on Sam's skin.

"Mom… God… Mom…"

"Shh… it's okay, Cassie, I'm here… I'm here sweetie… I'm here…"

She rocked Cassie against her, running her fingers over the long hair and stroking the emotionally heated skin with gentle fingers.

"Don't leave again!" Cassie gasped, her fingers digging into Sam's shoulders.

"I won't. I promise, I won't." The words were rough and awkward, catching in her throat and grating against her heart.

She looked up, over Cassandra's shoulder to let her eyes rest on the Colonel. His eyes were masked and his jaw clenched tightly.

He was hurting. He was really hurting.

Catching his eyes on her, he grimaced and staggered drunkenly into the kitchen, his footsteps sounding loudly on the wooden floorboards.

"Where did you go?" Cassie whispered eventually, not making any move to let go of Sam.

"I can't tell you that," Sam whispered, burying her head in Cassie's hair.

"The Stargate?" Cassie guessed quietly. Sam didn't answer, and she knew that Cassandra would take her silence as assent. "When did you get home?"

Sam hesitated. "I was cleared to leave the base yesterday afternoon."

Cassie pulled back, studying Sam. "You were hurt."

Sam allowed a wan smile. "Yes. But I'm okay."

Gently Cassie traced her finger over the new, pink skin healing where a cut had been on Sam's forehead. "You're okay."

"Yes, I am." She pressed a kiss against Cassie's forehead. "And I'm sorry."

Sorry for lying. Sorry for not being your mother. Sorry for doing this to the Colonel.

Cassie smiled tiredly and rested her head against Sam's shoulder.

"I got some macaroni out for you," Sam said softly.

"I'm not hungry," Cassie shrugged, and Sam could feel her eyelids flutter closed on Sam's neck. "I… Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Sure…" Sam's eyes widened. Sleeping. Where was she going to sleep now? "But first I need to give your Dad some food."

"I'll go and put my pajama's on," Cassie agreed, reluctantly letting go of Sam. She stood and studied her for a minute and then smiled hesitantly. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

Cassie smiled again and turned to walk up the stairs.

Sam closed her eyes. Missed you too. She missed everyone. Daniel, Teal'c, the Colonel, Janet… Cassandra…

Swallowing, she forced herself to walk into the kitchen where the Colonel was waiting for her.

---

They sat awkwardly at the table, picking at the now lukewarm food on their plates. The silence was even more strained than it had been before Cassie came home.

Home. Was this her home now?

With a start, Sam realised it was.

"You want some more, sir?" she asked eventually, putting her fork down quietly on the plate and pushing it away. She really wasn't hungry.

He shook his head, mirroring her actions and pushing away his half uneaten plate of food. She didn't blame him; frozen food wasn't that great and her cooking was certainly not spectacular.

"You have to stop calling me that," he said softly, standing up from the table.

"Sorry, Jack." It felt strange and unnatural, the word foreign on her tongue.

He nodded absently before grabbing two beers out of the fridge. "Here."

She wasn't a big drinker; never had been, and she never mixed alcohol with medication. This time, though, she ignored the cocktail of drugs she swallowed every morning by orders of one firm Dr. Fraiser and readily accepted the cold bottle offered to her.

She needed a drink. Hell, she needed a _vat_ of the stuff to try and understand what had happened to her.

"Where am I sleeping?" she asked after taking a generous swallow and placing the bottle on the table between her hands. She watched as the air condensed and beaded on the dark glass before dripping slowly onto the table. She wiped at the water, preventing a watermark from forming as she took another swallow.

He gazed at her, obviously not having thought about the answer to the question.

"I…"

"I'll go share with Cassie, tonight," Sam interrupted, taking another quick swig.

"No, there's no need-"

"She wants too. I think… I think she wants me near." It felt so traitorous and false of her to say that. She wasn't the person Cassie wanted; Cassie wanted her mother, and Sam wasn't her mother.

He nodded. "She'll be in our bed then."

Our bed. She gazed at him sharply, and he flushed awkwardly before hiding his discomfort in another swallow of beer.

"Are you… are you okay with this?" she asked slowly, letting her eyes rest on the table top again where another water ring was forming. This time she didn't bother wiping it away.

He snorted. "Okay with this? What are you, nuts? Of course I'm not okay with this."

She flinched at his tirade, but she didn't argue.

"For fuck's sake, this is my life we're talking about. Mine and Cassie's. I just got over her – you – whatever, and now this!"

He slammed the bottle down on the table and stormed to his feet. And then halted mid-stride to the door, his face a picture of shock. "Cass!"

Sam spun around in her chair to see Cassie standing in the doorway, her face confused and pale as she gazed at the two adults.

"Why are you fighting?" she whispered.

"I…we're…" the Colonel stuttered.

Cassie wiped furiously at her eyes. "Please, don't fight. Mom…"

Sam cringed at the plaintive voice, before standing up. This was going to kill her. And him.

Hesitantly she placed a hand on the Colonel's arm, her fingers trembling as they rested on his warm skin. He tensed up, tighter than the springs on a trampoline. He didn't move.

"We're just tired, Cassie," Sam lied gently, standing as still a post next to him. "I… it's been tough doing this, and we're just… we're just…"

"Promise?" Cassie whispered.

Sam nodded mutely.

"Dad?"

He must have nodded.

"So you still love each other?"

Her mouth felt like it had just crashed onto the tiled floor. "I…"

"Cassie, I love Sam. I always have, and I always will," he said smoothly. A save. A wonderful save by Colonel Jack O'Neill.

"Mom?"

What was this, twenty questions? "The feelings are mutual, Cassie." Sam had never hated herself more than she did at that moment.

Still unsure, Cassie nodded and turned away.

Sighing, Sam let her hand slip from his arm. He caught her hand and pulled her against him, his breath tickling her neck as he buried his face against her. "Don't move," he ordered huskily.

She swallowed, trying to ignore the feelings suddenly evoked by his nearness. "Why?"

"She'll be back in a second. We always did this after we argued, and she'd always check to make sure it was okay. Always."

She understood that; she'd done the same as a child. Spied on her parents to make sure they made up. And making up usually involved a kiss.

Oh shit.

"I'm… I'm going to apologise for this in advance," he whispered as his mouth moved higher towards her lips. Silently her lips parted and she nodded nervously.

His lips were dry and cool against hers, the contact brief and fleeting. It felt horribly awkward and uncomfortable, and Sam was starkly reminded of why she would never have considered a career as an actress.

"Relax," he whispered against her lips, brushing a kiss along her cheek before finding her lips again.

She tried to relax; tried very hard to focus on the feel of his lips against hers and his skin beneath her fingertips, but she felt like wood in his arms. He tasted like beer and coffee and smelt like leather and spice, and something inside her started to panic.

He shouldn't be kissing her. She shouldn't be kissing him. It was wrong, wrong wrong!

She struggled briefly against him, trying to wriggle away, but his hands trapped her against him, holding her head still and keeping her body close.

Movement at the corner of her eye alerted her to Cassie's presence, and she stilled in the Colonel's embrace, forcing herself to relax. His fingers dug into her, urging her to play along.

Tentatively, awkwardly, she kissed him back, ignoring the hundreds of warnings that sounded as she pressed her lips against his and rested a palm lightly against his cheek. And as she kissed him back, she started to relax, tasting him and breathing him in like perfume.

Somewhere along the line her eyes fluttered closed and she leant into him, her hands tangling in his hair as her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Some time their lips had parted and the kiss had gotten deeper, his hands running along her back and-

Abruptly he pulled away, and she stared at him, stunned. What the hell was that?

He swallowed. "You're not her," he whispered. "You're really not her."

She blinked. "No. I'm not."

Closing his eyes he stepped back from her, running a hand through the hair she'd messed up. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She licked her lips, still tasting him. "I know. Me too."

Cassie wasn't in her room, or the spare room Sam had slept in the previous night. Gingerly Sam opened the last bedroom door, the one she knew was the Colonel's room, and peeked inside.

Sure enough, Cassie was lying curled up on the bed, her eyes red and puffy.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked as she sat down on the bed next to Cassie and touched her shoulder hesitantly.

"I… I don't know," Cassie admitted, curling up against Sam like a cat. "I just…I thought you were gone."

"I know."

"You could have told me, Mom."

"No, Cassie, I couldn't tell you."

"You told Dad."

She hesitated. "Cassie… I didn't tell him. He's not stupid and he was on base…" She didn't even know how her counterpart had died. She really should read that damn folder. But she felt like a voyeur, a fake when she even contemplated trying to use someone else's memories as her own.

Sighing, Cassie closed her eyes. "I'm tired, Mom. I'm so tired."

"I know, sweetie. So am I." Dropping a kiss on Cassie's head, Sam rose slowly to her feet.

"He kept all your clothes," Cassie said suddenly.

"I know."

And how she wanted someone to love her as much as he loved Sam. Someone who would love her enough to refuse to let her go, even in death.

The door opened slowly, and he stood there gazing at them, his eyes unreadable. "You going to bed?" he asked slowly, licking his lips uncertainly.

She nodded, eyeing him warily.

Silently he crossed over and pulled open a drawer, hesitating before turning to face her with a pair of flannelettes in his hands. "Here."

"Thanks…Jack," she murmured, shooting him a grateful look. At least someone knew where her clothes were kept.

He disappeared into the en suite, and she changed quickly, neatly bundling up her clothes and dumping them in the washing hamper behind the door. Picking up a brush and quickly running it through her hair, she waited for him to finish in the bathroom.

"You cut your hair."

She nodded. "I had to. The witness protection…" The web was being spun, bigger and bigger…

"I like it short."

She smiled slightly before turning to face Cassie. "So I should keep it this length?"

Cassie nodded silently, and Sam felt relief. It was small and insignificant, but if she kept her hair this way, this style, it would help her remember who she really was. Not that she didn't want to become a part of this world, but she didn't want to become someone else. Not completely. The hair would remind her.

He finished in the bathroom, looking at her. "I put a new toothbrush on the vanity for you," he said, appearing generous.

"Thanks, Jack." It was becoming easier and easier to say his name.

He nodded, and she went to brush her teeth, remembering she'd better move the toothbrush in the spare bathroom before Cassie saw it and got curious.

Rinsing out her mouth and drying her face, Sam stared into the mirror.

She looked tired. Tired and haunted, as though there was something drastically wrong.

There was something drastically wrong; but she'd learn to live with it. To deal with it.

"Mom?" Cassie called through the door.

"Coming Cass."

Cassie was curled up against Jack, watching as Sam exited the bathroom. Uncertainly, Sam padded across the floor and hesitated at the bed.

"Mom?"

She got in quickly, her cheeks flaming. Cassie clutched at her arm, pulling closer under the blankets and sheets. She nearly yelped as his hand rested on her hip, but his eyes were controlled and guarded.

Normalcy. They were striving to maintain normalcy.

Settling down, Sam tucked an arm between the Colonel and Cassie, cushioning her face on her elbow.

The last thing she saw before he reached over her and flicked out the bedside light was him studying her with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

---

"Easy, easy!"

She flew upright in the bed, her chest heaving as she fought to get away from their hands. No… no!

"Sam!"

She blinked, jerking away from them and crashing heavily to the ground as her legs refused to untangle from the twisted sheets around her.

The room was filled with light and they loomed over her, staring down at her from their position on the bed.

She was crying, great, gasping sobs that tore through her whole body.

"Shhh…" His arms were comforting as he leant down and picked her up, pulling her back onto the bed and into his embrace.

"They're gone! All of them…. They're gone…"

"I know, I know," he soothed, pressing a kiss to her hot forehead.

"Mom?"

"It's a nightmare Sam, that's all, a nightmare."

She shuddered against him, her fingers digging into his skin as he held her and rocked her. She could feel Cassie's hands on her back, rubbing her shoulder and back while they tried to comfort her.

Nightmares. When would they stop?

Sniffing, she moved her hand and rubbed at her face, not making any effort to remove herself from his hold. Just this once, she thought, someone could hold her and make her feel safe again. Even if it wasn't real, it helped.

"Cassie, turn the light off," he said gently, his chest rumbling beneath her ear.

The room was plunged into darkness again, and she panicked, clutching at him.

"Easy…" he whispered. "It's okay, it was just a dream."

But it wasn't just a dream. It was a memory. It was a reality. Her reality. The reality she had left behind.

They settled down again silently, with her spooned against his chest and her head tucked beneath his chin. She could feel Cassie's warm body snuggling against her back; her tiny arms encircling Sam's waist and her breathing warm against Sam's neck.

Warm. Safe.

God she wished this was real.

---

_Please let me know what you think!_


	5. Chapter 5

---

PART FIVE

---

Lying with her in his arms felt…. Strange.

Strange because she was so familiar: her scent, her feel, her shape. She wasn't Sam, but physically…

Sighing, Jack closed his eyes and turned away from watching her and Cassie sleeping, the two of them lying curled up together closely, arms wrapped around one another and Cassie's hair tangled around them both.

He remembered when Sam's hair also used to be spread across the pillow.

It was the one thing he had disliked: having her long hair in everything and tangled around everything. Oh, he'd loved her hair, it was long and silky and smooth and smelt so damn good… but…

He swallowed. Why did he feel like he was betraying his wife by deciding that this woman's hair was better? He preferred it shorter.

He grabbed his clothes silently and headed for the spare bathroom, deciding a shower was good and he'd rather not deal with either Cassie or… or Sam just yet.

The blue toothbrush he'd given her on the first night here was carefully placed on the small shelf beneath her mirror. She even put her toothbrush the same way Sam did. Roughly he grasped it and threw it into the bin, the shiny plastic contrasting strongly with the empty white rubbish bag. He closed the lid firmly and turned his attention to the shower.

A long, hot shower where the water pounded him relentlessly, almost scalding his skin. The steam billowed around him, clogging the air and making it hard to breathe. He knew the mirror would be fogged up by the time he got out.

Why couldn't it be easy?

Why couldn't she be Sam? Why couldn't she be the woman he loved?

Because the woman he loved had died, and that was his fault.

Sighing, Jack swiped a patch of the cold mirror free of condensation and tried to study his tired features through the moisture streaks. Old. He was getting old. Much too old for this kind of shit.

Maybe he should just take Cassie and run away to his cabin and never come back. Pretend she never came through the damned mirror. Pretend that he was over her now, and that he could move on with his life.

Glaring at his wavering reflection, Jack turned to put on his clothes.

---

Glancing back into the bedroom, Jack realised they were both up. And judging by the smell of coffee wafting through the hallway, he'd guess that they were in the kitchen.

Sure enough, when he started down the stairs he saw Sam's form slipping from the lounge to the kitchen.

What was he going to say to her? How was he going to justify holding her in his arms all night?

He turned to enter the kitchen.

"Hey, Dad?"

He almost answered, but Sam beat him to it, obviously not realising he was right behind her. "It's me, Cassie."

Cassie spun around, her brows narrowed. Suspicious? Why did she look so suspicious-

"Mom?"

"Yeah, it's me. Why do you look so surprised?"

He realised why as soon Cassie turned to him, complete confusion on her face. This woman hadn't been a host. She didn't have naquadah in her body.

Oh shit.

"Who are you?" Cassie demanded, pushing the chair out and stepping backwards until she was pressed against the kitchen bench.

Oh this was not good.

"I'm…Cass, what's wrong?"

Cassie turned to him, her eyes accusing and filled with tears of grief and anger. "It's not her!" she yelled. "It isn't? Is it?"

He opened his mouth to deny her words, to lie to her.

Nothing came out.

Cassie threw her plate at him. "I hate you! I hate you both!"

They were silent as she rushed out of the house in her pyjama's, the front door slamming behind her.

Eventually she turned to look at him, her shoulders slumped. She looked defeated. Completely and utterly defeated.

"It was wrong, lying to her," she whispered, closing her eyes slowly and opening them again as she licked her lips. "We should have told her the truth."

Jack agreed.

But then again, Jack was the one who'd said that this was a bad idea from the start. That it was wrong, agreeing to 'keep' her so-to-speak.

"Where are you going?" her voice reached him as his hand touched the front door handle.

"I'm going to find my daughter."

She drew in a shaky breath and nodded before she crouched down and started picking up the pieces of the shattered plate scattered across the floor. He watched her for a few, silent seconds, her fingers shaking as she tried to gather the shards of Cassie's breakfast plate. He should help her, he thought, but watching her shaking fingers moving blindly across the floor, he couldn't bring himself to move toward her.

And given the rate at which his plates and glasses were breaking, he was going to have to buy some new crockery by the time this was over.

Over.

Would this ever be over?

He stepped into the bright morning sunshine and looked up the street, trying to see where Cassie had run to.

No, it would never be over. She was here for good, and they were going to have to learn to live with it.

---

The house was quiet when he came back, the staunch emptiness reflecting silently from the non-existent reception he got when he opened the front door.

The house never used to be empty or quiet when she was alive.

"Did you find her?"

He jumped in shock, turning to face Sam as she stood in the kitchen doorway, her eyes creased with worry and tension as she looked at him.

He shook his head. "No. I've tried all her friends and her favourite haunts. I don't know where she's gone."

She nodded regretfully and licked her lips before letting her blue eyes meet his.

Her eyes. It was her eyes that were really the giveaway about who she was.

Sam had always been happy; her eyes smiling and sparkling happily, innocent of a lot of things Jack would never wish on her.

This woman, though, had seen war. She had seen death and atrocity on a scale even Jack was doubtful he'd witnessed; and he'd witnessed a lot in his lifetime.

She was also a soldier. He could tell by the way she carried herself, the way she studied things, her precision and her meticulous movements that were all efficient and practical.

Sam had been energetic; exuberant and full of life, her spontaneity and ability to dream adding sparkle and adventure to her.

This woman was the definition of control.

"I'm sorry, Jack."

He didn't answer, turning to adjust his unused leather jacket on its hook.

"I… I'm going to phone General Hammond and-"

"And what?" he demanded harshly, filled with sudden terror.

He couldn't lose her again.

Lose her again? She wasn't Sam. But…but…

"I can't do this. I can't lie to everyone and pretend I'm someone I'm not-"

"Don't pretend then." It sounded so easy, so simple.

She hesitated, uncertainty filling her gaze. "It's not that easy, sir."

Sir. She'd always call him sir, wouldn't she? "Just… just be yourself, okay? Everyone close to Sam – to you – knows now. Only your Dad doesn't know yet but-"

"My Dad?" she whispered, her mouth dropping open.

He frowned. "Yes, your Dad-"

"You mean he's alive?" she breathed, hope shining desperately in her eyes.

"Last time I looked."

Closing her eyes she staggered back against the wall and let her head rest against it with an audible thud.

"He died in my world."

Well, that was pretty true considering her world had just been wiped out.

"Not here. Him and Selmak are having a great time-"

"Selmak?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You haven't read her file yet, have you?" It hurt referring to his wife's entire life as a 'file', but it was business again, his job, and he could do his job with his eyes blindfolded. Almost.

"No," she admitted, guilt rising on her face. "I…it didn't feel right."

He smiled then, feeling a kinship with her for the first time since he'd laid eyes on her.

"It's not right. None of this is."

"But it happened anyway," she agreed.

"That's how Cassie knew," he said suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"Sam was infested with a Goa'uld."

"Oh my God!"

"Only it was a good Goa'uld, apparently. A Tok'ra. It left a protein marker and some naquadah in her blood, so Cassie and Sam could 'sense' one another."

It felt strangely good talking to her about Sam. It was easier and more comfortable talking to her than to anyone else about his wife; he could barely even acknowledge Sam's existence with some of his colleagues.

"So what do we do now?" she asked eventually, breaking the thoughtful silence that had settled over them.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Give her some time. This is… hard."

"You're telling me," she sighed emphatically, but there was a small smile of understanding touching her lips.

"Sam-" he hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Don't phone Hammond."

Looking at him warily, she nodded. "Can I get you a drink?"

He sighed. "Please."

---

He was slowly drinking his coffee, and she was sitting curled up on the couch. He sat and watched her silently, drinking in the familiar lines of her body. She always used to sit like that in the evenings when they were relaxing, her feet tucked up beneath her and her whole body seeming to rest on her endless legs.

God he missed her.

The phone shattered their crystal silence, and he rose slowly to his feet.

"O'Neill."

"Colonel…It's Janet."

"Janet," he greeted uncertainly, his eyes flicking across to Sam who was now studying him intently, obviously curious about the conversation.

"Are you missing something?"

"A daughter," he agreed, a smile of relief tugging at his lips. Janet had her. Janet would look after her.

"She's upset, sir."

"I know."

Janet was quiet. "You shouldn't have told her."

"We didn't tell her. She figured it out herself. The naquadah, Janet."

She sucked her breath in, and he could hear her twisting the phone cord around her fingers. "She doesn't want to go back."

Yeah, that figured. He didn't blame the kid. If he could just up and run like that, he would have done so a long time ago.

"She's okay though?" he checked.

"She's lying asleep on my bed. She wouldn't let me call you."

He sighed into the phone, leaning back against the wall. "What do we do now, Janet?"

"I've talked to General Hammond already. There isn't much we can do now, other than explain what's really happening."

"I doubt she'll want to listen."

Janet chuckled in agreement: Cassie had a terrible temper. "She'll cool down in a few days."

"So now everyone who matters knows."

"Except General Carter."

"But we can explain it to him," he said firmly, his voice not brooking any arguments.

"It's not up to me, sir."

Jack sighed again. "Will you look after her for me, Janet?"

"You don't have to ask, Jack. You know I will."

Yes, he did know that.

"Thanks for calling me, Janet."

"That's fine. You and…and Sam just get things sorted, okay?"

Get things sorted.

It made it sound like this whole situation was nothing more than a domestic argument.

"Sure."

She hesitated. "Bye."

"Bye Janet."

The room was quiet after he hung up, his heart pounding suddenly as he stared at the smooth, white receiver.

"She's at Janet's," he announced.

"I realised."

"Janet will look after her."

She didn't comment, and he turned around to see what she was doing. There was a speculative expression on her face.

"What?"

"You knew."

"Knew what?" he demanded.

"You knew she was at Janet's."

Yes. Maybe he did know. Maybe he did know that Janet was the only person left alive on this earth that his daughter trusted, and he didn't want to hurt her more by chasing her when she wanted to be alone.

"What makes you say that?"

She eyed him. "You sat down and drank coffee. You were relaxed."

He raised an eyebrow.

"You'd never do that. Not if you were worried about someone. You wouldn't just wait."

She had a valid point, he acknowledged.

"She wanted to be alone."

"You still went after her."

Maybe he did. And maybe he just wanted to be alone as well.

Silently he finished his coffee and turned to go into the kitchen.

---

_Come on, don't make me beg for reviews! I'm not making you all beg for more fic:P_


	6. Chapter 6

---

PART SIX

---

Her neck was starting to ache and her shoulders were telling her it was time to stop. Blinking, Sam gazed up at the clock on the wall above the computer. 1432 hours. Was that all? After everything that had happened today, was that all?

"You hungry?"

She jerked on her chair, the folder in her hands slithering to the floor and spewing its papers around on the carpet.

"Pardon?"

"Lunch time is long past. You hungry?"

She shrugged. Food wasn't really an important factor in her life right now. Her life. The life she'd taken over from someone else.

He shifted his weight awkwardly and leant against the doorjamb, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I was going to go to the store… grab some groceries. Did you…did you want to go with me?"

His eyes were carefully masked as he gazed at her.

Go with him? Shopping?

She swallowed. "I…Yeah, okay."

She knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to make it normal. To accept her in his life.

Could she do that to him? To herself? Could she let them try and replace people who could never be replaced, no matter what?

Silently she followed him to the car.

The city was the way she remembered it, before the ships came and blew the shit out of everything. Watching the busy crowds run and move across the streets, the people unconcerned with matters other than their own, it felt like a dream. It felt like a dream, remembering her world crumbling, having her friends die in her arms, watching as her life got pulled apart at its seams.

"You okay?"

She glanced over at him, the sunshine warm as it shone in through the windscreen. "Yeah, fine."

He raised an eyebrow, the gesture so familiar it sent pangs of grief through her.

She couldn't get over how much like him he was… she'd been expecting it; it had been a given, but actually experiencing it, actually witnessing someone who was the Colonel but wasn't the Colonel…

The minute the car stopped she was out and standing on the pavement, letting the cool breeze blow over her and calm her frantic heartbeat.

Wrong.

This was so wrong.

She shouldn't be here-

"Come on."

She followed him silently.

"You grab the vegetables, I'll get the bread and milk," he ordered as they entered the supermarket.

She nodded mutely; there was no point in arguing over something so trivial. Carrying a basket on her arm, Sam made her way over to the vegetables. Some lettuce…and tomato. She'd used all the tomato the night before. Oh, eggplant and-

"Sam?"

She looked up.

"Sam?"

Oh, shit.

"Uh…hi?"

The woman blinked, her mouth hanging open. "But you're… the accident… Sam?"

Who the hell was the woman?

"Uh…"

"What happened to you? Aren't you supposed to be-"

Sam allowed the short woman to gather her in a fierce hug, returning the hug awkwardly and wriggling out of the woman's hold as fast as possible without seeming to be rude.

"I'm…"

"What the hell happened?" the woman demanded again, wiping furiously at the tears in her eyes. "God, look at me, I'm crying again. I… where's Jack? And Cassie?"

Sam shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. "Cassie's at Janet's, and Jack is-"

"Right here, Mel."

Mel.

Mel? Who the hell was Mel?

Sam studied the woman; red hair, green eyes, pale skin with an abnormal amount of freckles covering her light flesh.

"What is going on?" Mel demanded, pulling Sam into another hug. "I thought… I was at your funeral, Samantha O'Neill!"

Samantha O'Neill. The words jolted her, and she gasped, pulling backwards.

"Sam?"

Jack's arms were around her instantly, holding her steady against him.

"Sshhh," he whispered, soothing her hair back and pressing a kiss against her temple. "It's okay…"

She pushed him off, trying to calm her breathing, uncomfortable with his strange actions. Pulling her into his arms wasn't something Sam was used to the Colonel doing, and apparently it unsettled her quite a bit.

Mel was still standing there, confused and highly emotional. Could this day get any worse? Did the universe have it in for her, Sam wondered as she stared awkwardly at the woman she supposedly knew. Why, of all days, did Mel have to choose today to buy eggplant?

"She was in witness protection, Mel," Jack pulled her close again, holding her firmly in place against him.

"I…she was…you mean she's not dead?"

He stiffened against her, his fingers digging into her back.

"No, she's not."

Sam wanted to laugh; she could feel the hysterical giggles bubbling up inside her. What the hell was wrong with her, she thought, trying not to panic. This wasn't her. She didn't do hysterical or flighty or panicked.

"Then-"

"There was an accident, Mel, and she had some head injuries. But she didn't die. She only suffered concussion and a mild amnesia-"

"Amnesia?" Mel squawked.

Amnesia? Sam pushed him away again, confused. His eyes were warning her to be quiet.

"She doesn't remember a lot of stuff, but other stuff she remembers perfectly. I don't think she remembers you."

Oh. So this was what he was trying to do. Thank God Jack O'Neill could spin a story, because she sure as shit wasn't any use for anything today.

"Sam? Do you remember me?"

She shook her head shyly, feeling like a complete idiot.

Mel smiled bravely; her green eyes still misted over with unshed tears. "I'm Mel. Melanie. I taught Cassie when you first adopted her, and we became friends then."

They did?

Wow.

"I'm… I'm sorry," she stuttered finally, "but I honestly…"

Mel smiled again and touched her cheek gently. "That's okay. You're back. God, you're back. I can't believe it…I just looked up and saw you standing there. I thought I was seeing a ghost, Sam. I can't tell you how happy I am…" Again, Sam was enveloped in another warm hug from the short woman before she stepped back and just grinned at them. "It's lovely having you back. Absolutely wonderful."

Sam was crying; she could feel the tears dripping down her cheeks.

It felt like all she did lately was cry.

Jack put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her head in to rest against his neck. "It's been a long time," she heard Jack say to Mel. "She's only just gotten back… still recovering from the accident…"

"You have to come over for drinks one day. Both of you."

"We will."

And then he was leading her towards the checkout, leaving her shopping basket lying on the ground where she'd dropped it and his own basket sitting to next to it.

Who needed groceries anyway?

---

She watched as Jack noisily scraped his knife and fork over his plate, a reluctance in his movements that had mimicked her own.

"More?" she questioned softly, pushing the bowl towards him.

"No thanks," he shook his head and silently placed his knife and fork together on the plate.

Now what?

This was so awkward; all of it. The sitting around the house, avoiding one another because they didn't know what to say. The silence while they ate their meal. The stiffness in how they reacted with one another. It was easier at the SGC, Sam thought, at least there they could avoid each other. She wished she was cleared for work again. Why had Janet and Hammond insisted on her and the Colonel having a week of downtime to 'settle'? It was a stupid idea, she thought angrily, gathering their dishes and heading toward the sink.

"Need a hand?" he asked hesitantly.

"No, I'll be fine thanks."

"It was good, Sam. Thanks."

She almost laughed; the food was terrible and they both knew it.

"Could your Sam cook?"

The kitchen was deadly quiet; as though time had frozen everything into its place.

"Yes."

Her eyes were stinging again as she turned towards the sink, her hands shaking as they struggled to turn the faucet on and run the hot water. Holding her hands under the clear, cold liquid while she waited for it to heat up, Sam realised something.

She couldn't do this.

She couldn't do this anymore than he could.

He moved behind her, bringing over the last of the glasses and bowls. She didn't turn to look at him, merely acknowledged his assistance with a quick nod of her head so he wouldn't see her tears. He left just as silently.

---

It was quiet in the house. Much too quiet. The silence stretched and pulled her thoughts in every direction, tearing her emotions into shreds as she wandered aimlessly from room to room. As she wandered she let her eyes and fingers trail over small mementos, some familiar, some not. Her fingers traced photographs as her eyes misted over.

That woman was gone. Never to be replaced. Never to return.

Instead, Sam was here, trying to fit into a life that wasn't her own. Only she was the wrong piece of the puzzle, she thought dully. Her edges and quirks didn't quite fit into the hole left in this universe by the death of Doctor Samantha O'Neill.

Not sure of what exactly it was that compelled her, Sam found herself standing at the kitchen cupboard and pouring two mugs of coffee. With the shadows in the house growing longer and the light starting to dim indicating that the end to an incredibly long, emotional day was drawing to an end, she started to relax.

One day over and done with. Fair enough, there had been a few disasters, narrowly diverted catastrophes and a rather large amount of tears, but it was a start. She'd made it through one day. How much worse could it possibly get?

Kicking the backdoor open with her foot, she stepped soundlessly onto the deck. But she hesitated before she spoke, unsure of how he would react to having her intrude on his silence.

"It's going to be dark soon," he said casually, not moving as he sat with his back towards her on the step.

She accepted his unspoken invitation to stay, and hesitantly moved over to him before passing the coffee to him. Coffee was the one thing she'd learnt to make during their innumerable missions; the Colonel had loved hers.

"This is good," he murmured appreciatively as she sank down onto the step next to him slowly, letting her eyes rest on the tree-covered hills in the distance.

Seems Jack liked her coffee too.

They drank in silence, neither one moving as the sun slipped lower and lower behind the hills. The clouds flared up in bright strokes of orange and red, the hazy pink tinge reflecting into her eyes and turning the hills into a brilliant silhouette.

"It's beautiful," she whispered softly, her mug empty and useless in her tired hands.

He grunted in agreement, and they sat until the sun disappeared behind the hills with a last, brilliant flare. With the disappearance of the sun, the world and skies suddenly lost the motivation to retain their colour, the light and hues quickly slipping and fading away until different shades of grey were all that was left.

And along with the setting of the sun, Sam's strangely content state of mind fled, leaving her clutching the mug with fingers white with strain. The silence became strained and awkward.

"What's going to happen now?" she grated out eventually, her voice tearing awkwardly through the silence.

He shifted on the step, his gaze still focused out on the darkness as his leg brushed slightly against hers. She swallowed, moving her leg away from his, confused by the sensations running wild through her body.

"I don't know," he said eventually, answering her question. "What do you want to happen?"

What did she want?

What did it matter what she wanted? She didn't have a choice in this world; her life was mapped out for her, her identity sealed and created. No one cared that she was military, no one cared about a career she had worked her ass off for, and no one cared about what she wanted to do.

Just because she looked like Sam O'Neill and shared the same genes as Sam O'Neill, didn't mean she was Sam O'Neill, didn't mean she wanted the same things from life as Sam O'Neill.

"I want… I don't know what I want."

She was lying and they both knew it.

"What was it like in your world?" he asked eventually, his head still turned out into the darkness beyond.

She swallowed. Really? What was it really like?

"It was the same, but it was different."

Now that was a stupid answer.

"How?"

She had to hand it to the man; he could be remarkably patient when he chose.

"It's the same in the way that you're here, and General Hammond, and Janet and everyone… but it's different because you're all different."

He didn't have to ask how they were different; he knew.

"I honestly can't picture you in the military," he said eventually, almost apologetically.

To her - and his - surprise, she chuckled. "That's what General Hammond said. Why not?"

"You were…. Sam was too occupied with her science. Rules didn't really… well… when Sam wanted to do something, she did it. She's a lot like Daniel-"

"You don't think she had the self-discipline, do you?"

There was silence. "No."

Again, she chuckled. "And you don't think she would have been physically capable, do you, sir?"

"Actually, it's more the motivation to stay physically capable. She hated jogging and weights. All she did was aerobics-"

She could feel the intensity of his eyes on her even though she couldn't see them. "Sir?"

"You're doing that again."

"What?"

"Calling me 'sir'."

"Sorry, Jack."

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence again, the mood ruined. Her eyes stinging, Sam bit down on her lip and rolled the mug in her restless hands. Sir. Why was she calling him sir again?

Because it had felt right. It had felt as though she was with the Colonel again, just talking, the way they used to before… before things changed.

She'd felt comfortable with Jack, and the thought shocked her.

"Did you love him?"

The words came out of nowhere, and she gasped as the mug slid from between her fingers and dropped to the wooden step. It bounced once, twice, and then landed on the damp grass beneath, remarkably unbroken.

"I'm sorry, that was out of line."

She swallowed. "I don't know."

"You don't know what?"

"Whether I loved him. I cared about him, he was one of my best friends."

"But?"

"We couldn't, even if we wanted to."

"He was your CO, wasn't he?"

She nodded mutely, knowing he couldn't see her in the darkness. Her heart contracted painfully, and burning tears were stinging her eyes again.

"Sam?"

She drew her breath in deeply, closing her eyes and willing her control to return. "He…he could easily have meant more to me," she whispered, opening her eyes.

His face was close to hers - so close she could feel the soft warmth of his breath as it stirred the hair resting lightly on her forehead. So close she could see the way the kitchen light reflected in his eyes.

So close that his lips could brush softly against her skin and whisper lightly down her temple to hover against the corner of her mouth. She swallowed, her breath jerking in her throat as she struggled to breathe. The caress was smooth and fleeting, her skin prickling with awareness as his breath spilled against her sensitive lips.

"Sam, I-"

She moaned as his lips brushed against hers again, their breath mingling together as he pulled away.

"I-"

Her eyes fluttered closed as his kissed her again, his fingers brushing lightly through her hair.

"I miss her," he murmured before abandoning her lips and kissing a drunken path down towards her neck where her pulse was beating furiously.

"I know," she gasped, her hands rasping against his stubble before cradling his face. "I know. I miss him too."

He sobbed as he kissed her; she could feel his chest jerking spasmodically against her as his arms wrapped around her and his lips pressed tightly against hers. His taste exploded over her senses, the saltiness of their tears trickling in as their mouths met repeatedly and their hands searched heatedly across warm skin.

"Sam…" he whispered hoarsely in her ear, his body straining.

"Colonel," she rasped, her eyes screwed shut tight as the sensations broke over her.

And as he lowered her back onto the wooden decking, his hands everywhere and nowhere on her body writhing against him, skin sliding and slipping against skin, Sam shut away the smell of death and the copper taste of blood and let herself drown against his body slick with sweat until the stars were spinning and she couldn't feel the pain anymore.

---

_And the plot thickens! _


	7. Chapter 7

**---**

**PART SEVEN**

---

Well. This was incredibly weird. And odd. And weird.

And stupid.

Very stupid.

Very very stupid.

But it felt so… so normal.

Closing his eyes again, Jack forced himself to relax so he didn't disturb Sam. The last thing he needed now was for her to wake up and for them to have to face what they'd done. To actually admit what they'd done.

And part of the reason he didn't just get up now and walk away was because she was lying on him.

The other part being that she was in _his_ bed, so where would he sleep if he left?

Sighing, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the way her hair smelt - the way _she_ smelt exactly like Sam. Felt exactly like Sam. Hell, she even tasted like Sam.

But she wasn't Sam. Despite being so similar she was…. Different.

This woman's body wasn't the soft, yielding body his wife had been. She had scars and marks scattered liberally across herskin, starkly reminding him of the differences between their realities. And her strength had surprised him; despite still recovering from severe injuries the steel in her muscles and strength in her lithe figure was unexpected.

Different.

He frowned and looked down at her blond head that was resting comfortably on his chest. What were his fingers doing, brushing through her hair? Angrily he snatched them away and placed them carefully under his head.

She wasn't his Sam.

So why did he still feel like touching her and holding her? Why did he want to believe she was his Sam?

This was ridiculous, he realized. This whole, entire situation. And having sex with her was probably the worst thing he could have done. The worst, because it had just driven home the fact that she _wasn't_ Sam.

She hadn't been familiar with him. She'd been uncertain; her hands unsure as she discovered what he liked and didn't like. He, on the other hand, had known _exactly_ what she liked. Marriage did that to people.

He hadn't been married to her.

She hadn't even had sex with her Jack.

Jack shifted on the bed beneath her warm weight, still reluctant to move her. It was more than him being scared of the consequences when she woke. It was more than wanting her to get some much needed sleep.

It was something deep and aching inside of him. Something that was quite happy to let her lie on top of him, limbs relaxed and strewn haphazardly. When she was like this - sleeping - it was easy to fool himself that she was Sam.

And he wanted that charade to last a bit longer.

She stirred on top of him, and he held his breath.

Would she wake up, or wouldn't she?

He hoped she didn't wake up.

Sam didn't wake up. She just moved around, curling her arm tightly around him before cuddling close to him.

A lump rose in his throat. This was so wrong. It was so bad. Pretending she was…she was…

He'd used her.

The knowledge stung bitterly.

He'd used her to try and bring his wife back. Used her and called out another woman's name - granted the name was the same, but he knew it wasn't the woman in his arms he had been calling for.

But she was just as guilty as he was. She'd made love her commanding officer, and he'd made love to his wife.

Swallowing roughly as he closed his eyes and tried to blot out the feelings of apprehension now stealing through him, Jack let himself slip back into the deep clutches of sleep.

---

Sam's hair was tickling his nose, and his arm felt distinctly hot. Very hot.

Slowly opening his eyes, Jack blinked as the room came into focus. And as the room came into focus, Jack realized why he felt like he was being watched.

Cassie stood staring at them, her jaw clenched shut, eyes bright with unshed tears and anger.

Oh. Shit.

"Cass-"

"I hate you," she whispered, her eyes not moving from his face as she stood staring at him. "I hate you both."

"Cass-" He tried to protest, but the words died on his lips as Sam moved against him, her hands sweeping lightly across his chest.

"How could you?" she choked out, struggling to keep her tears at bay as she gazed at him - at them - lying on the bed.

Sam's eyes fluttered open against his chest.

"I…we…Cass-"

Sam pulled out of his arms, her expression horrified as she grasped the sheets around herself, her cheeks burning fiercely.

"I hate you!" Cassie spat venomously. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" Her sudden screams rent the air, and Jack could only watch helplessly as she stood screaming in the doorway, her body mutilated with the sobs running through her.

Loud footsteps echoed up the stairs and down the hallway. "Cassie? Are you okay, Cass?"

He was frozen. He couldn't do anything except watch as Janet appeared in the doorway, her brow furrowed with concern. Her eyebrows rose slightly as she caught sight of Sam and Jack in the bed, but her immediate concern was with Cassie.

Cassie, who was now clutching onto Janet tightly, her sobs still cutting through the air.

"Shh, Cass, it's okay… it's okay…"

His throat felt dry and raw as he watched her rock his daughter, as he watched her comforting his daughter because of something he had done. Again.

Then Jack made the mistake of glancing at Sam. She was still sitting in the bed, clutching the sheets up around her neck, a horrified expression frozen onto her features as her eyes rested on Janet and Cassie. She was shaking. He could see the way her body trembled.

And he knew in an instant that they were wrong. That what they were doing was wrong.

But that didn't stop him from wanting to do it again.

---

Jack could honestly not remember a more awkward feeling, than the feeling of finally heading down the stairs into the kitchen below where he knew Janet and Cassie were waiting.

Still, Jack wasn't a coward. Gritting his teeth, he strode forward determinedly, his jaw clamped down tightly.

Cassie was sitting at the table, playing absently across the finished wooden surface with a fork. He kept his mouth shut; to scold her now would only worsen the situation. He flinched as she deliberately gouged a deep, angular line across the table before looking defiantly up to meet his eyes with her own tear-stained ones.

He swallowed.

"This can't go on," Janet said eventually, leaning stiffly against a counter-top.

No, it couldn't go on.

"I don't want to stay here," Cassie said loudly, her eyes once again resting on the table top where she continued to scrape the knife through the old varnish.

"Cass…" he started out hesitantly, his insides jerking.

The fork dug savagely into the wood, and he shut his mouth.

"Cassie, if you put one more mark onto that table…" Janet let the sentence trail off threateningly, her gaze firm as it rested on the teenager.

Silently Cassie dropped the fork and mutinously started fiddling with her bracelet.

"Where are you going to stay if you don't stay here?" Janet asked after the silence had grown stifling.

"With you."

Jack felt jealous of Janet. More than jealous. He resented Janet for that smooth, simple statement from his daughter. His daughter. Cassie was his daughter.

Then it's about time you treat her like she is your daughter, isn't it, Jack?

Ruthlessly he ignored the nagging thought and watched Janet to see her reaction.

"What about your Dad?"

Cassie kept silent, her fingers never once resting as they fiddled with the silver clasp. She unfastened it, and then clipped it back together, unclipped and then together…

"Cassie?"

"He's not my Dad."

He felt like he'd been hit.

Not her Dad.

Dad.

She'd been calling him 'Dad' for almost two years now, the same way she'd called Sam 'Mom'.

"He is your Dad, Cassie."

"Well I don't want him to be."

"You can't just decide who's your Dad and who's not," Jack inserted.

Cassie glared up at him. "And you can't just decide who you're married to or not!"

He saw Janet flinch in the corner of his eye, he saw the way she pulled back into herself, and he saw the pain etched deeply into her features.

Who was he kidding? This wasn't just about him having sex with a look-alike. This was about him trying to pretend that the woman still lying upstairs in his bed was his wife, his daughter's mother and Janet's best friend.

And he wasn't even fooling himself this time.

"I don't want to stay here, Janet. Don't make me stay," Cassie whispered, begging as she gazed across at the small doctor.

"Cassie, I can't just-"

"I don't want to stay here! I don't want to be near them!"

"Cassie!" Janet snapped sharply.

"They make me sick, Janet! I don't want to stay. If you make me stay, I'll just run away again."

Jack felt sick.

"She will," he said into the silence, his eyes resting on Cassie's now still fingers. "She won't stay here, and I won't make her."

Janet's eyes flew to his face; surprised and confused.

"She'll be happier with you, Janet. You can look after her. I'm no good at the parenting thing."

"But Jack-"

"No, Janet. She wants to go, and I don't blame her. If you're okay with it, she can stay with you."

Janet wasn't happy with his decision. At all. "Jack, I don't think you're-"

"She's not going to be happy here, Janet."

"But you're her father!" Janet exploded, almost stamping her foot. "And you're just letting her go!"

"I'm doing what's best for her!" Jack yelled back. "Do you honestly think I'm capable of looking after her? Do you honestly think this… situation is good for her!"

"It would be fine if you could just keep your-" she stopped abruptly and her face flamed. "Sorry, sir, that's none of my business-"

"You're right, Janet, it's not your business," he agreed coldly. He was already feeling guilty enough about sleeping with Sam, he didn't need Janet to harp on about it as well. "Cassie, you can come home whenever you want, okay?"

She stared at him silently, her face pale and defiant. She wasn't coming back in a hurry.

"Janet, I'll call you and we can… talk."

"Talk?"

"Yes," he agreed firmly. What, she thought he was just going to lump his kid on her and that was it? No way…

"I'll go and get my stuff," Cassie said stiffly, rising to her feet and disappearing out of the kitchen.

"Jack, this isn't going to be permanent."

He swallowed. Actually, it probably would be. "Just until she calms down, Janet, and until we get this all sorted out."

"Okay. But on the condition that you have family counseling. And Sam too."

"Sam?"

"Unless I'm mistaken, Jack, she is your wife."

Your wife.

No, she wasn't his wife.

Janet gazed at him, her look unflinching. "I'm not looking after Cassie permanently. I love Cassie, but she isn't my daughter. She's your daughter, and you've got to start acting like she is."

"What do you want me to do, Janet?"

Janet sighed as she dragged a hand through her hair. "Honestly, Jack? I really don't know. You've… you've made things a lot more complicated now."

He hung his head meekly; yes, that he certainly had done.

"What about Cassie?"

"She can stay at my place, and I will look after her. But you will not just ignore her like you have for the last six months. You will visit, you will cart her around from school, to friends houses, movies and whatever else needs to be done. Spend time with her. You and Sam."

"What if she doesn't want to?"

"She won't have a choice," Janet stated. Jack saw the steely glint in her eye, and knew better than to argue.

Silently he nodded, and turned to go help Cassie carry her bags to Janet's car.

---

With a suitcase bumping awkwardly against his leg and his other hand clutching Cassie's portable stereo, Jack slowly made his way down the stairs. He stopped about halfway down, realizing it was wrong but unable to help himself.

"Why did you lie to me?" Cassie demanded, and he had no pretensions that he didn't know who she was talking to.

"I didn't want to Cassie, but I didn't have a choice," Sam said softly, and Jack knew she was fighting to hold it together.

There was silence, and Jack heard someone moving around the kitchen. "In your reality, I wasn't your daughter, was I?"

Jack swallowed, closing his eyes.

"No," Sam agreed softly.

"Then you should be happy."

"Why?"

"Because now you'll have my Dad all to yourself again, just like you're used too."

Jack's eyebrows almost hit the roof. Cassie was jealous of Sam?

"You're wrong, Cassie." Sam's voice was barely more than a whisper; Jack had to strain to hear it. "You're more wrong than you can imagine."

Cassie snorted, and he knew from experience that no matter what Sam said, the teenager was in no mood to discuss matters. Her mind was made up, and she was just as stubborn as her adoptive mother when it came to mulishness. "If you'll excuse me, _Sam, _Janet's waiting in the car for me."

He watched as she stormed out of the kitchen, her red brown hair streaming in an angry wave behind her as she left through the front door.

Silently he followed her out of the house, placing her bags in Janet'strunk and closing it with a deceptively comfortable thud.

Then the awkwardness ensued, as he stood with his hands uncomfortably jammed into his pockets. Cassie gazed at him blankly, her face masked.

"Aren't you going to say goodbye to your Dad, Cassie?" Janet prodded none to gently.

"Bye."

Jack's eyes started to sting, and he clenched his fingers in his trousers pocket.

"Jack?" Janet prodded.

His voice was stuck in his throat, he doubted he could speak.

Janet watched him pointedly.

Silently he reached forward, relief and gratitude running through him as Cassie allowed herself to be hugged. He held her stiff, unyielding body for a moment, resting his cheek against her hair with a grief that surprised him. Her arms curled around his back and dug into his shoulders, clutching him tightly against her. He could feel the heat of her tears soaking in through his shirt.

"I love you, Cass," he whispered, pressing a kiss against her hot forehead.

"I love you too, Daddy," she returned, pressing her face tightly against his chest.

And then she was gone, strapping herself into the front seat next to Janet, staring determinedly away from him as Janet got into the car and started the engine.

He stood watching them drive away, and saw her tear stained face turn toward him as her hand pressed against the window before the car disappeared around the corner.

Jack thought maybe another tiny portion of his soul died out there in the sunlight, watching her leave.

---

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, her hair still damp from her shower, and her arms wrapped around her waist. She didn't acknowledge him as he entered, and he wasn't sure if she'd heard him come in.

"Hungry?" he asked eventually, his voice strangely gruff.

She shook her head stiffly and stood up, her back straight and rigid. "I'm sorry," she began.

"For what?"

"For… Cassie… if we hadn't… if I didn't…"

His lips pulled together tightly, and he moved awkwardly to the fridge. Burying his head in the cool depths, he searched between its meager contents.

"What are we going to do?" she whispered, her voice sounding close to breaking.

"Carry on," he snapped. "We've had this conversation before, Sam, and the only way it's going to work is if we carry on."

"How am I supposed to do that, Jack? How am I supposed to just forget everything and pretend that everything's fine? How am I supposed to get through each day without remembering that everyone I ever knew is dead? Everyone I ever cared about is gone!" she yelled.

He slammed the fridge door, facing her with grief in his eyes.

"You think this is easy for me? You think it's easy seeing you standing there, looking like her, tasting like her…sounding like her and knowing that it's not her? You think it's easy pretending you're my wife?"

Her face grew pale and her eyes wide, soundless stutters escaping through her parted lips.

"Don't look at me like that!" he exploded, marching across the floor to her.

"Don't yell at me!" she returned sharply, her eyes shimmering with tears.

She cried a lot lately, he realized, and she hated it. She had always hated crying. Her hands were furiously wiping at the tears, a look of self-disgust and loathing crossing her face briefly before she jutted her jaw out stubbornly.

He sighed, closing his eyes. She was in his arms before he realized, crying as he held her against him. And then her tears turned to something else, her lips brushing softly against his neck.

Oh, God, he thought briefly, closing his eyes. Her lips were soft and warm against his, persuasive and salty from her tears, as giving as the arms that encircled him and the fingers that combed gently through his hair.

His hands reached for her blindly, smoothing across her skin.

She moaned a soft whisper of breath.

He didn't stand a chance.

---

_I love angst. Really I do. Feedback, anyone!_


	8. Chapter 8

**---**

**PART EIGHT**

**---**

It didn't take a genius to realize that she wasn't coping.

Staring into the mirror, Sam studied her face carefully. There were lines on her face that hadn't been there before, lines that shouldn't have been there yet. That was ignoring the new scars added to her already abundant collection. Sighing, Sam splashed water onto her face and straightened up, wiping at the pale skin with hands stinging from the coldness of the water.

A pair of blue eye stared back at her, something haunted in their depths. She narrowed her eyes, glaring until her brow was furrowed and her lips pulled tight. She was stronger than this. She was stronger than the weak woman she had seemingly become overnight.

She was Sam Carter, and Sam Carter was a survivor. A fighter. Someone who never gave up.

Squaring her shoulders, Sam left the relative safety of the bathroom and made her way towards the commissary. Food sounded really good, and she knew that Jack wouldn't be there. He was never there between 1400hours and 1500hours; that was his 'Hammond time', time spent with the General, going over the base's functioning.

He was being groomed to take over as CO when Hammond finally retired, and he didn't make any pretence of not knowing.

As usual, the commissary was almost empty, only a few scattered souls sitting at tables and eating while thumbing intently through various magazines, reports and papers. No one spoke to her, and she didn't talk to them.

What was unusual today, was Daniel.

He was sitting at a table by himself, his head cradled in his arms. Sam flinched when she saw him like that. A part of her desperately wanted to go to him, to comfort him, but this Daniel wasn't hers. She didn't know him anymore; the limited contact she'd had with him since she came back had been mostly awkward, and she guessed that was because he knew about her and Jack screwing thanks to Janet apparently telling him everything. God, she thought miserably, the entire base probably knew.

Still, despite the awkwardness and tension between them, he was still _Daniel_, and right now, Daniel was hurting. Sam hated seeing Daniel like this, the obvious despair hurt her because Daniel was still a friend, and if anything, Sam understood what it was to lose someone you cared about. Sha're's death was more complicated than most losses, Sam conceded to herself, and she wasn't sure that Daniel would welcome her interference.

He looked up at and smiled briefly at her. A weak smile touched her lips, and she slowly made her way to him across the commissary, a feeling of relief at his semi-invitation for company.

"Hi," she smiled.

He nodded silently, before rubbing tiredly at his hair.

She knew the expression that was on his face. She knew it meant he wanted to talk, to argue, to vent. To be comforted by her.

And she was terrified, because he wasn't the Daniel she knew and remembered, and she wasn't the Sam he needed.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, slipping into the chair opposite him.

She owed it to him to try though, hadn't he tried to help her when she first came to this reality?

"You don't have to do this, you know," he slurred.

Sam frowned as she gazed at him, noting the redness of his eyes and the shaking of his hands.

"Have you been drinking, Daniel?" As soon as the question was out of her mouth, she could smell the stale scent of old alcohol on him, and she flinched as his hand brushed over his rough stubble.

"So what if I have?" he demanded harshly, his fist landing limply on the table.

"Drinking won't make it go away, Daniel. It won't change anything," she said gently.

"What would you know?" he rasped. "How would you know what does and doesn't help?"

She swallowed roughly, closing her eyes. "I lost everyone, Daniel. Everyone."

"It's not the same," Daniel argued.

"No, it's worse, because I lost everyone!"

"But I did lose everyone!" he snapped, anger in his eyes as he glared at her. "Don't you understand, Sam? Sha're was the only person I had. Now I won't even have Kasuf and his family anymore..."

"You've still got Jack, and Teal'c..."

He gazed at her disdainfully. "They have their own lives, their own families."

She wanted to protest, and she wanted to argue.

"Daniel, I don-"

"Save it." He rose unsteadily to his feet. "I should have known better than to talk to you. You're not Sam... You can't help."

She stared after him silently, her heart thundering in her chest and the walls of the commissary starting to spin.

Not Sam.

Can't help.

Should have known better.

Sam scrambled to her feet silently, drawing ragged breaths of burning air into her body, her tray untouched on the table.

Not Sam.

She knew she wasn't their Sam, but she had been hoping... praying... wishing that maybe.. just possibly... hopefully this could work.

It couldn't.

She couldn't stay.

---

Clipping her briefcase shut with a firm movement, Sam stood back and let her eyes travel once more over the lab she'd started to call hers in the last few weeks since she'd been allowed to return to work. Her gaze rested on the cheery yellow walls - oddly enough, she'd really enjoyed the warmth and comfort they'd brought to the lab. They made it seem cozier than her old lab back home.

Back home... the words sounded odd, especially the place she was thinking of looked almost exactly like this place.

Shaking her head to clear the sentimental thoughts, Sam pulled her case off the desk with a smooth movement and marched out the door, refusing to look back as she flicked the light off for a final time, plunging the lab into darkness.

Strangely enough, she felt elated as she continued down the hall. Her back was straight and her head held proudly, determination and anticipation lighting up her features.

A fresh start, away from all of this, away from this incredibly tangled mess she'd created by coming here. Some place where no one knew her, where she didn't have to pretend to be someone she wasn't. And if she was running away, no one would blame her. Doubtlessly, everyone would breathe a silent sigh of relief that she had finally come to her senses and stopped trying to be someone she wasn't.

The manila folder was still untouched in the drawer in her desk at home. She'd have to read it, probably, and learn the basics about her counterpart's life, but that would be all. She wouldn't pretend to be her counterpart anymore. She was just going to be herself.

Now she just had to tell Hammond.

And Jack.

Her stomach lurched at the thought. She could picture the carefully masked confusion as he found out; imagine the slight raising of the eyebrows.

She'd miss him.

Even if he wasn't her Colonel, she'd still miss him.

Hell, having sex with the guy for the last few weeks caused him to grow on you.

They both knew they were living out an illusion, and Sam was growing tired of the sick, guilty stone growing heavy and solid in her stomach each time they touched one another in the relative safety of their darkened bedroom. Each time she cried out 'Colonel', she wanted to curl up and die, crying because it wasn't him she loved. And when he whispered 'Sam' in her ear, she knew it wasn't for her.

And the pretensions were starting to sting.

Straightening her dark maroon jacket and running a quick hand through her hair to straighten it, Sam knocked firmly on Hammond's door.

"Come."

She opened the door and stepped in, holding her briefcase stiffly by her side.

Actions seemed right for what she was about to tell him.

He frowned at her in confusion, and his eyes flickered to the person standing next to her. She hadn't realized he wasn't alone in his office when she marched in; she blushed as she turned to face the other person in the room.

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at the person next to her, the world silent and void of motion as she let her gaze travel of his familiar face... a face she hadn't seen for almost a year...

"Dad," she whispered.

His eyes glowed.

---

She couldn't tear her gaze away from him. Each time she tried to look away, to force her eyes to rest somewhere else in the room, her gaze always strayed back to him.

And his - or their - eyes were constantly resting on her, studying her, observing her.

Squirming awkwardly in her chair, Sam's hands fluttered nervously on the tabletop.

"So," she said eventually, her voice cracking as it sliced unevenly through their silence.

"So," he echoed, his lips tightening.

What did she say to him?

Hi Dad, I'm your daughter though I'm supposed to be dead, and you're supposed to be dead too. You're not supposed to have a snake in your head.

"George said that I'm dead, where you come from."

She nodded mutely.

"Cancer?"

Again, she nodded. What was wrong with her?

More to the point, what was wrong with him? Since when did he _try _to make conversation with her? Since when did he give her a chance to ask and answer questions.

He almost smiled gently. "It's Selmak, Sam."

She raised her eyebrows. "Selmak?" The Goa'uld that wasn't really a Goa'uld?

"My symbiote," he confirmed. "She saved me, Sam. And my Sam said she made me softer." A sad smile touched his cheeks.

She eyed him warily. How could she trust this person who had a snake in his head and an almost complete personality transplant?

Jack trusted him, and he hated the Goa'uld.

"How are you doing?" he asked softly, his eyes soft with concern.

"Why are you taking this so easily?" she demanded, ignoring his question. She couldn't fall apart in front of him, especially not now.

"Selmak helps," he admitted, smiling ruefully. "I came to terms with Sam's death a while ago... and I'm not saying it doesn't hurt to see you here, but it's a lot easier for me with Selmak."

She nodded, not completely understanding him, but willing to agree to stop arguments.

Sam just wanted to leave. She just wanted to pack up her bags and leave, go where no one knew her, where no one had to deal with who she was before she 'died'. For the first time, running seemed like the right thing to do. It also seemed a hell of a lot easier.

"It can't be easy for you," he continued, relaxing on his chair.

"It isn't," she agreed absently.

"When Sam died... a lot of people felt it when she died," he said softly. His eyes studied her carefully. "She was a good person, and I'm not just saying that because she was my daughter. She was a good person."

Sam nodded, her eyes stinging with tears. Yes, the Sam here had been a good person. Why else would so many people find it hard to adjust to the 'new Sam'. The one who was military. The one who wasn't afraid to make her mind known. The one who wasn't afraid to give as good as she got.

The one who wasn't dead.

"How's Jack doing?"

She flinched. Her whole body stiffened and her jaw tightened.

"Sam?"

"He's... he's okay."

"And Cassie?"

Sam hesitated. "I don't know. She lives with Janet."

He - she couldn't think of him as her Dad yet - nodded silently, disapproval lurking in his eyes.

"And what about you, Sam?"

What was this? 50 questions? "I told you, I'm fine."

"We think you're lying."

We. That freaked her out, hearing him say 'we', the same way Hathor did. Involuntarily she shivered.

Had the Sam of this reality encountered Hathor? Had the Sam of this reality hated her as much as she did?

Sam blinked. She didn't know anything about her counterpart, other than she was married, adopted Cassie, died and had a yellow lab with red flowers.

"I don't even know how she died," Sam whispered suddenly, her body sagging limply against the chair. "I don't even know what she looked like."

"She looked like you," he said gently, his face controlled.

"How did she die?" Sam asked desperately. "Please, I need to know."

"They didn't tell you?"

She shook her head. "They gave me a file with everything I needed. I didn't read it... it felt like I was prying."

He sighed.

"She died in a car accident," he admitted, closing his eyes. "It was raining, and a tire blew out as they were going around a corner. The car rolled and went straight into a tree."

Sam closed her eyes, willing the images her imagination was providing her away. "Did anyone else...?"

He shook his head. "Jack broke his leg and a few ribs. Cassie wasn't in the car."

Tears were stinging her eyes again, but she blinked them away and looked up to find her Dad studying her.

"What are you thinking, Sam?"

She hesitated, but she looked up and met his eye. "I can't stay here."

He closed his eyes and nodded in agreement. "I didn't think you would."

"If things were different-"

"They are different, and that's why you can't stay."

She couldn't argue with that.

"If you ever need anyone, Sam, I am here."

She smiled tightly, fighting to keep her tears at bay. "I know."

"So are the rest of us."

Swallowing roughly, Sam rose to her feet and picked up her briefcase.

"Good luck, Sam," he whispered, turning from her.

And as he turned, she caught a glimpse of grief, a single tear creeping from between his tightly closed eyelids.

This was for the best. She was hurting too many people by being here.

---

She was standing in their - his - bedroom, trying decide what to take, when she heard the unmistakable sound of the front door slamming.

Oh. Shit.

Calmly opening the bag, trying to act as though she wasn't terrified out of her mind, Sam deliberately ignored the thundering of his footsteps as he hurtled up the stairs. The bedroom door banged open, but she refused to face him.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"Packing."

"Why?"

Why was he being so dense?

"I can't do this, Jack."

"Can't do what?"

"This. Pretending I'm someone I'm not."

"But we've been over this. You're not pretending to be anyone anymore, you-"

"I'm married to you, aren't I?"

He floundered to a halt. "But-"

"It's too hard, Jack. It's not fair on me, and it's not fair on any of you. You don't mean to, but you all expect me to be her."

"What about Daniel?" he threw at her. "You can't leave him now."

"That's why I'm leaving," she said softly. "He wanted Sam, and I'm not her."

"He's just lost his wife, for crying out loud, he's going to need us!"

"He doesn't need _me,_ Jack. He needs your wife, Jack, and I'm not that woman. I can't help him, he doesn't want my help. I just make it worse."

He remained silent, and she turned back to her packing. Couldn't he see that this was for the better? Couldn't he see she was doing them all a favor? And why did Hammond have to go telling him before she had a chance to get away? Why couldn't they understa-

His hands were on her arms, spinning her around, his lips meeting hers angrily.

"Jack-"

Her hands were on his chest, pushing him away, but he pulled her closer, his mouth opening her beneath his, his hands raking over her skin.

Fire burned where his fingers touched her, shivers journeying across her body. All she was aware of was him; his scent, his touch, his taste...

Skin slipped across skin, the sheets cold and crisp beneath her back.

"Jack," she moaned, her breath whispering across his skin. "No, Jack... no..." she writhed on the bed, struggling to breathe as his body covered hers.

But she was lying. They both knew it, and his hands flitted over her, his mouth drawing her to him.

"Jack," she whispered again, her body shaking, gasping as she pressed against him, limbs twining with intimate familiarity.

Once more. Just one more time.

---

_Thanks for all the reviews guys, they're absolutely awesome! Thanks for being so patient too!_


	9. EPILOGUE

**EPILOGUE**

The bed was empty when he woke up, the warm evening light falling in gently through the window. Sitting up, he rested a hand on her side of the bed.

Cold.

---

This was how it should be.

She was wrong to try and fool herself.

She'd known it wouldn't work.

---

The only sign that she had been there was the crinkling in the pillowcase where she had slept, and a soft, lingering scent that he recognised too well.

She was gone.

Gazing around the room, it felt empty. Devoid of her presence. Missing the softness and warmth he was so used to.

---

The soft hiss of her tyres slapping down repeatedly on the wet road was almost hypnotic. She stared ahead hard. Maybe she should have said goodbye. Maybe she should have stayed, explained it to him, discussed it with him...

But he had no claim over her.

She wasn't his wife, and he wasn't her husband.

---

Her clothes were gone.

But the jewellery was all there, lying in the jewellery box, the way his wife had left it before-

The wedding rings were there as well, he realised with a shock.

The simple metal band and the delicate engagement ring, lying silently together on the rich oak dresser.

---

She ground her teeth as the rain splattered down heavily onto windscreen. It was better this way. Without her there to constantly remind him of who he'd lost, and without her having to constantly be around the SGC and remember who she had been, what she'd had... what she didn't have now.

At least Hammond understood. At least he had tried to help her.

---

Gone.

She'd left him.

He picked up the rings and held them in his palm. The metal was cold, their weight solid and dead on his skin. Jack held the rings tightly in his hand while he dressed. He glanced at them once more before slipping them into his pocket, and walking out of the empty house.

---

Sam sighed as she flicked on the indicator.

She should be happy.

She should be relieved that she was starting out on a new life, her own life. Her choices, her decisions. Her life.

But all she could see was his face, dirty, blood stained and pale.

---

_There you go. First part done. The sequel HAS been started; a couple of chapters are already done but I'm not going to post them yet for continuity (I have a nasty habit of changing plot halfway through my fics, which is why I don't do WiPs very often!)_

_Thanks for all the reviews; they honestly keep me inspired to write because if my ego is happy my muse is usually pretty happy to co-operate!_


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